


White lies

by ylc



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mpreg, Pining, Romance, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: In Jaskier’s defense, he hadn’t actually believed Geralt would come looking for him eventually, so he figured that telling his mother that the Witcher was the father of the child he was carrying would be a completely harmless lie.And then of course Geralt had walked back into his life and things got… complicated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 261
Kudos: 1679





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s the thing: I have a ridiculous weakness for Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics’ fics. Also I have a huge weakness for unexpected pregnancies fics so… here we are.  
> Now, before we begin, I must say I’m just familiar with the Netflix show, so I apologize in advance for the lack of other canon knowledge that lead me to making up pretty much everything :P Google wasn’t being very helpful with the research, so I had to improvise ;)  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Geralt had thought that it was inevitable that their paths would cross again, but it had taken much longer than he had originally anticipated and a lot more of conscious effort on his part. Of course, if pressed, he would claim he hadn’t been actively looking for Jaskier, but in truth after finding Princess Cirilla he had been looking for the bard in earnest.

To be honest, going to Letthenhove had been a bit of a desperate move on his part. He knew Jaskier had family there, but he knew little else and he hadn’t actually thought he would head for his family home: while Jaskier didn’t speak much of his childhood and teenage years or the town he grew in, he had always been quite adamant that there wasn’t anything for him back there.

But either he changed his mind or he found himself without any other options, seeing that’s exactly where Geralt finally finds him.

And judging by his scent, he’s willing to bet it was option number two.

He became all too familiar with Jaskier’s scent while they traveled together, getting to know it as intimately as if they had been mates. He would have noticed even the slightest change in these months apart, but even someone not quite as familiar with the bard’s scent, would have noticed the difference.

The milky scent of unborn pup is mixed with Jaskier’s in such way that there’s simply no way to make a mistake: the bard is pregnant and the sole thought almost makes Geralt turn around and leave before actually facing his friend.

In the end though, he forces himself to soldier on and enter the tavern where he can smell Jaskier is in. There’s music playing, an all too familiar tune greets him and Geralt’s foolish heart flutters in his chest.

His entrance attracts a few curious glances and quickly enough those who have noticed it are leaning towards their companions, pointing at the Witcher and murmuring to each other. It’s not a completely uncommon reception and so Geralt barely spares a thought on the matter.

Ciri presses closer to him, practically hiding behind his bulk now, pulling her hood over her head. The Witcher places a hand on the girl’s shoulder, leading her towards one of the empty tables, deciding they might as well eat as he waits for Jaskier to be over with his presentation.

Or that had been his plan, except that the many murmurs have grabbed the bard’s attention away from his music and he’s noticed Geralt’s presence now. His scent spikes with something that Geralt has never smelt on him before, or at least not directed at him: Jaskier stinks of panic and Geralt’s heart twists at the notion. Jaskier had never feared him, not even at the very start of their acquaintance and now--

Jaskier steps down from the improvised stage and hurries to him. His eyes are wild with fear and Geralt is half tempted to actually leave right now. It’s evident the Omega isn’t happy with his presence and while he had expected as much, a foolish part of him--

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, throwing his arms around him, holding him close. He still smells of panic, which is quite curious seeing he’s the one who initiated the hug, but Geralt doesn’t really question it, relaxing into the embrace. He’s never been one for displays of affection, but he could never quite deny Jaskier his need for such touches and he’s not about to begin now, when their relationship is standing on such shaky ground.

“Listen to me,” Jaskier urges, whispering against his ear. “I need you to just play along, alright? I’ll explain later.”

Geralt frowns, confused by the words and the secretive tone in which they were whispered, but before he can question it, the tavern’s front door opens, a group of guards flanking an elegant woman coming in.

“Witcher,” the woman greets, her tone cold but cordial and Jaskier pulls away from Geralt’s embrace and the Witcher hurries to place himself between the newcomer and his friend, also pushing Ciri behind him, sensing there might be trouble. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow, curious and from the corner of his eye he watches Jaskier step around him. He allows it, but he gets ready to protect the bard should the need arise.

“Mum, Geralt has just arrived into town, I don’t really think--”

Geralt looks between the woman and his bard, growing more confused by the minute. Now that he’s actually looking, the similarities between the lady and Jaskier are quite prominent; in fact the woman looks like an older version of her son. She’s dressed richly and the guards surrounding her suggests a certain status and Geralt isn’t sure how to reconcile what he knows of Jaskier with what he has just learned.

“Hush, darling,” the Lady says and Jaskier clamps his jaw shut which, Geralt thinks amusedly, would be a most useful trick to learn. “Lady Amaryllis, Viscountess of Letthenhove,” she introduces herself, offering her hand to be kissed and Geralt hesitates just for a beat. On one hand, it’d be impolite not to do as expected, on the other he’s not one to care for politeness or for nobles’ fragile egos, but this is Jaskier’s mother so--

“My Lady,” Geralt greets, bowing his head although it feels odd to do so. Witchers bow to no one, but-- “Geralt of Rivia,” he introduces himself, although he assumes she already knows who he is.

“Hum,” the Lady murmurs, her eyes flicking to Ciri. “And this young pup? She’s yours?”

“I’m Fiona, my Lady,” the girl hurries to introduce herself, her curtsy so elegant and well practiced that immediately raises a few eyebrows. Geralt holds back a groan: the girl’s smart but some things are too engraved in her brain for her to completely fake otherwise.

The Viscountess hums, still looking at her. Ciri shifts on her feet nervously and Geralt is hard pressed not to push her behind him once more. “You must be tired,” the woman finally says, turning her attention back to Geralt. “You must join me for dinner.”

It’s not an invitation but an order and while Geralt bristles at the woman’s tone, a quick look in Jaskier’s direction stops him from saying anything at all. The bard is looking at him with wide, pleading eyes and as usual, Geralt finds himself incapable of denying him anything.

“Of course, my Lady” he agrees, figuring there’s no real harm either way. He’s a little worried on Ciri’s account, but he supposes they’re more or less safe for now. After all, Jaskier is his friend and this woman is his mother, so--

“Oh, please,” the woman says, waving a hand dismissively as she turns around to exit the tavern. “Call me Amaryllis. We’re about to become family, aren’t we?”

Jaskier’s scent is laced with panic once more and Geralt frowns, choosing to simply hum in lieu of a response. It’s a most curious statement, but judging by Jaskier’s expression asking about it is not the best idea and so he keeps his mouth shut.

Later, he thinks. Later Jaskier will provide answers, probably even to questions that Geralt won’t actually voice, like all those concerning the pup he’s carrying.

In truth, Geralt is dying to know about that.

But he won’t ask.

* * *

As they make their way through town, they gather more than a few curious stares. This is not unusual for Geralt and yet they feel different although he couldn’t explain how if someone had asked him. He keeps Ciri close to him and at some point he grabs Jaskier’s arm, pulling him close too since people are staring a little too intently at him. Of course that just succeeds on dragging more stares, but Geralt feels a little calmer this way. His Alpha instincts are screaming at him to protect his pup and his mate and he’ll be damned if he ignores them.

Of course Jaskier isn’t actually his mate and while Ciri might be his child of surprise, she’s not _his_ pup so--

He watches Jaskier from the corner of his eye, not quite sure what to make of their reunion. The bard hadn’t seemed terribly happy to see him, but he had hugged him and that must count for something. He doesn’t smell distressed anymore either, his scent back to its soothing flowery notes. The milky scent of the pup is a little distracting, but not unpleasant and Geralt finds himself discreetly taking a whiff to reassure himself that yes, he has managed to find Jaskier again.

And if he has his way, he won’t be losing him again.

Although that might be a little trickier than Geralt originally envisioned. His lifestyle isn’t conductive to forming a family and he’ll have trouble enough with Ciri around to add a newborn pup into the mix, but--

There’s also a chance that Jaskier won’t want to travel with him again. After all, he’s going to have a babe and there’s probably an Alpha in the picture: Jaskier had never strike him as the kind who settled down, but evidently he was mistaken. There’s no mating mark, though and other than the addition of the pup’s scent, Jaskier doesn’t really smell any different, but maybe--

He shakes his head in an effort to clear it. There’s little use on speculating: he’ll get his answers later and until then, he won’t continue pursuing this painful and useless line of thought.

Jaskier rubs a hand over his swollen abdomen, a distracted smile on his lips and Geralt’s heart constricts painfully inside his chest.

Maybe he’s too late.

* * *

Despite its size and how well looked after the mansion is, it’s nothing like the Palace-like houses most nobles, even small nobility, have.

The house is surrounded by an extense garden, filled to the brim with vegetation. Geralt can see a few guards milling around, but they all look relaxed. They run into a couple of gardeners in their way to the house entrance and Lady Amaryllis stops to speak to them for a few moments, which gives Geralt enough time to continue inspecting their surroundings. He doesn’t trust all this peace and quiet, although he must admit that might just be his usual paranoia talking.

“You do not believe I would lead you to a trap, do you?” Jaskier asks him, tone light and cheerful, but there’s a dark edge underneath. He’s not looking at him, eyes starting upfront and his body is tense, but his arm is linked with Geralt’s which is… comforting, he guesses.

“No,” he replies honestly and Jaskier looks at him from the corner of his eye. “I trust you, Jaskier.”

The bard’s lips curve up in a slightly self deprecating smile, but before Geralt can say anything else, they’re moving once more, this time actually entering the house.

“Welcome to our home,” Lady Amaryllis tells him, smiling at him. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but that’s something Geralt is used to. Nobles will smile at him because they need his help one way or another, but the minute the job is done--

Well.

“Frederik,” the Viscountess says, addressing the butler that appeared as soon as they walked through the door. “Have one of the girls prepare a guest room for the young miss,” she says pointing at Ciri. “Don’t you have any bags with you?” she asks Geralt, with a slight frown.

Oh, right. Their stuff. “Left them with Roach,” he murmurs, a bit embarrassed he somehow managed to forget about his faithful mare. To be fair, she’s probably fine back at the tavern’s stable, but--

“Ah, right. The mare,” the woman says, nodding. “Have someone fetch her, would you Frederik?”

“At once, my Lady,” the butler replies pleasantly. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

“Wonderful,” the woman says, clapping her hands together. “In the meantime--”

“Mother, perhaps our guests would like to rest before dinner,” Jaskier interrupts. “Maybe even a bath?”

Lady Amaryllis huffs. “If you wanted some privacy, you only needed to say so, pet. Very well, run along. This young pup can keep me company while you two have a proper reunion.”

Jaskier blushes madly, but Geralt barely notices, his focus mostly on Ciri who looks nervous at the thought of being left behind. He’s not keen on the idea either, truth be told, but he and Jaskier do need to talk and--

“You’ll be fine,” he tells Ciri, resting his hands on her shoulders comfortingly. “I’ll be close.”

Ciri bites her lip gently but nods. “Alright,” she agrees softly, unsure and Lady Amaryllis huffs.

“Oh, please. Family is family. Your pup will be perfectly fine with me,” she says, wrapping an arm around Ciri’s shoulders. The girl stiffens briefly, but doesn’t comment and Geralt narrows his eyes at her, but of course the Viscountess is as immune to his dark glares as her son.

“She’ll be fine, Geralt,” Jaskier assures him, grabbing his hand and squeezing gently. “And we really need to talk.”

Yes, Geralt supposes that’s true.

It’s time for a much needed talk.

* * *

Jaskier takes him to what’s presumably his room, just stopping once on their way up to ask a maid to fix them a bath. Jaskier sits on the edge of the bed, looking quite nervous and Geralt chooses to stand by the door, both to ensure no one eavesdrops on their conversation and also because he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” Jaskier says after a tense silence. “Ask away.”

There are several things Geralt wants to know, but the first question to leave his lips is one he hadn’t been planning on asking. “How did that happen?” he asks, pointing at Jaskier’s swollen belly and the bard arches an eyebrow, looking slightly amused.

“Oh, I’m certain you’re familiar with the proceedings Geralt. We might have never engaged in them with each other, but I have it on good source that you have--”

“That’s not-- what I meant was-- how-- when--?”

Jaskier sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “After you… _after we parted ways_ , I met someone. Except no, because that makes it sound like it was an important someone and they weren’t, not really. I just… I mean, it’s not like I had been planning on sharing my Heat with someone but-- oh, quit making that face!” he exclaims and that’s when Geralt notices just how tightly he was clenching his jaw. “It wasn’t anything nefarious, as you’re probably thinking. It was all perfectly consensual, I just meant it wasn’t something I had planned on doing. And I didn’t think-- I mean, it’s something I’ve done before and I always took all the appropriate precautions and so I didn’t think, well. And then, when I realized I was carrying I thought, well, why not? I mean, I’m not getting any younger and I’m tired of chasing after something that’s clearly never going to happen but a pup… well. I did want to be a father.” He shrugs, avoiding Geralt’s eye. “But with… well, everything that’s happened, I figured the roads weren’t safe for anyone really, but especially not for someone in my condition and so I came to my mother’s.”

Geralt keeps quiet, contemplating Jaskier’s words. His stomach is twisted in knots for some reason and he can not deny the slight flare of jealousy he’s still feeling at the thought of Jaskier with someone else, ridiculous as it might be, because--

“And of course my mother had a right fit when she saw me,” Jaskier continues with a self depreciating chuckle. “She demanded the Alpha’s head, because h _ow dare they leave me after knocking me up_ and I couldn’t quite tell her it had been a meaningless fling because _how dare I keep a pup of someone I didn’t love_ and… well…” he rubs his hands nervously, his gaze flicking to Geralt very briefly. “I might have-- I might have lied to her. Which is why… well. Hence your reception.”

Geralt frowns. “What did you tell her?”

Jaskier groans, pinching the bridge of his nose once more. “Geralt, you must understand-- I didn’t think we would ever see each other again and-- Well, my mother might want your head but no one is stupid enough to actually try to get it, so...”

“What did you tell her?” he repeats very slowly, realization drawing upon him. He has a very good idea of what Jaskier might have told his mother, but he needs to know for sure.

Jaskier sighs, expression devastated. “I told her you were the father.”

Of course he did. “Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says, because he has no idea what else he can say and he’s a little busy processing the warm feeling spreading across his chest at the thought of Jaskier actually carrying his pup.

“Well, yeah and Witchers also don’t have feelings and they only care for themselves and they always travel with packs of gold, except of course that’s not true and so who is to say which parts of Witchers’ lore are correct and which aren’t?” Jaskier argues, an edge of hysteria in his tone. “We’ve been traveling together for years, Geralt. Most of the people who’ve met of us assumed we have been fucking all this time, so… well. It was a perfectly plausible tale.”

Geralt can feel his cheeks warming up and he wonders if his blush is noticeable. “You told your mother you were pregnant with my child so she wouldn’t give you grief?” _how did that work out?_ he wants to ask, because he does not think it went over particularly well. 

Jaskier shrugs. “Yes. And now that you’re here-- well, she’s probably hoping you’ll make a _decent Omega_ out of me and marry me.”

Geralt hums. It’s a ridiculous notion, a wedding ring doesn’t make an Omega any less or more decent, but he also knows it’s a widespread belief and so he understands Jaskier’s predicament, although--

“Oh, my mother will have my head!” Jaskier laments dramatically, laying down on the bed with a hand covering his face. “I’m a dead man walking!” he continues, bemoaning his luck, in a quiet _despairing_ dramatic tone.

It’s a bad idea, Geralt knows. For years he’s been trying to ignore his growing feelings, telling himself over and over again that he wasn’t any good for Jaskier-- the Omega too young and good and deserving much better than a mutant like him, but--

“Do you want you marry me?” he asks and Jaskier’s dramatic monologue stops abruptly, as he sits up straight, a startled expression on his face.

“What?” he asks, looking honestly puzzled and Geralt wonders if he really wants to do this. It’s a recipe for disaster, it can not possibly end well and yet-- “That’s not the point Geralt, you’re not--”

“I will,” he interrupts. “You’re my friend,” he adds, as if that explained anything at all. He supposes it does, on some level, at least to him, but it’s probably not enough.

They stay in silence for a beat, just watching each other. “Well,” Jaskier murmurs finally, slightly hesitant. “I suppose there are worse reasons to get married,” he says although he doesn’t look very sure. “You don’t have to,” he adds gently, avoiding Geralt’s eye.

“I know,” the Witcher agrees. _I want to,_ goes unsaid.

Jaskier watches him for a beat, as if trying to read into his very soul. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral, ignoring the mad beating of his heart. “You don’t-- I mean, it’ll be a marriage only in name,” Jaskier tells him softly and Geralt ignores the breaking of his heart with practiced ease. “I don’t-- I mean, it’ll be just like the old times. With neither expecting anything from the other.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees, because what else can he do? The marriage will be a sham, a continuation of a lie that spiraled out of control, but if it’ll continue to spare Jaskier from any grief-- 

“Very well,” the bard agrees finally, expression hard to read. 

It’s not a terribly romantic proposal, Geralt is aware.

But then again, it wasn’t a matter of romance at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy it :)

Geralt’s eyes drop close on their own accord, as he relaxes into the warm bath. Jaskier’s fingers are tangled in his hair as he washes it, humming softly to himself and that’s very soothing too. He has always enjoyed this, even if he had always told the bard otherwise. Then again, he’s fairly certain Jaskier knows he was lying or he probably would have stopped at some point.

Jaskier has always been very good at seeing through him.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me,” the Omega says, gently pushing him downwards so he can rinse his hair. “My mother is still expecting us for dinner.”

Geralt hums, eyes still closed. Jaskier huffs, amused and stands up, going to dry off his hands. Without his companion’s hands on his hair, the bath doesn’t seem as relaxing as it did a few moments ago and Geralt scowls at nothing in particular, missing Jaskier’s touch despite himself.

“So, are you going to tell me about your little adventure on Cintra?” Jaskier says, dragging the small stool he had been sitting on to the front of the tub so he’s facing Geralt. “I don’t imagine Queen Calanthe was thrilled to see you.”

Geralt huffs. Understatement of the century, really. But-- “How did you know I went to Cintra?”

Jaskier snorts, “Oh, please. I remember that particular party as if it had been yesterday. The girl is Princess Pavetta’s spitting image.” He smiles, leaning against the edge of the tub, his fingers gracing the water. “It was a fun party, although I know you don’t share my opinion,” he adds sadly.

“You know I didn’t mean what I said,” Geralt says earnestly, grabbing his hand. Their eyes meet and he forces himself to hold the other man’s stare. “I was upset about what happened with Yennefer, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Jaskier sighs, pulling away and standing up. “You always lose your head around the witch,” he says, not facing Geralt. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Jaskier--” Geralt has no idea what he was going to say, but a knock on the door interrupts him before he can reply. The Omega heads for the door, exchanging a few words with the person on the other side and finally comes back, a bundle of clothes in his arms.

“Well, it seems your tale will have to wait for later,” Jaskier says, tone full of false cheer. “Dinner is ready and you need to get dressed.” He places the clothes on top of the stool before passing him a towel, a forced smile on his face.

“Jaskier, I am sorry,” Geralt says, because that’s all he can think of saying. It’s not enough, not by far, but it’s the best he can offer right now.

“It’s fine,” his companion replies, still smiling. “I’ve made my peace with it. Now, hurry up and get dressed before my mother comes looking for us.”

Geralt frowns, considering Jaskier’s words. He doesn’t like his defeated tone and it feels like there’s something he’s missing: as if Jaskier means he’s made his peace with something other than Geralt’s horrible moods.

But he has no idea what.

* * *

Dinner is an uneventful affair, although Geralt is pleased to note Ciri seems much more relaxed now, talking to their hostess amicably most of the time. It’s very clear Lady Amaryllis likes children a lot, her efforts to make the girl feel more comfortable noticeable. She’s also _nice_ to Geralt, which is an improvement from his usual dealing with nobles.

Jaskier is his usual loud self, sharing outrageous tales of his time traveling with Geralt with Ciri. The girl is delighted to hear of their exploits and so Geralt tries his best not to scowl too much even when the bard is exaggerating things a little too much. He’ll hum or grunt when asked for his opinion and for the most part he’s happy to let the other man do the talking.

Jaskier leans against him and touches him often, as he always has and Geralt’s foolish heart keeps fluttering every time he does. Jaskier has always been touchy and so he’s well aware it means nothing, but now they’re technically _engaged_ and while it might a marriage out of convenience rather than one out of love, he can’t help the warm feeling in his chest.

“Before you retire, I’d like a word with you in private, Witcher,” Lady Amaryllis says, once they’ve finished eating. Jaskier looks ready to protest, but Geralt simply places a hand on top of his, effectively silencing him. Geralt had been expecting her to say something on that line, so he simply nods his acquiescence and watches as Jaskier and Ciri leave, the first recounting yet another one of his exaggerated tales while throwing nervous looks behind him.

When the door closes after them, Geralt turns his attention back to their hostess.

“I must say,” Lady Amaryllis begins, watching him closely. “I didn’t believe you’d show up. I’m glad I was mistaken.”

Geralt hums, twirling his wine cup thoughtfully. “I didn’t know he was with child,” he says, carefully measuring his words. He does not want to lie, but he can spin the truth in a way that doesn’t reveal anything at all.

The Viscountess nods. “I will not ask for any details. Julian said you had your reasons for leaving him and I’ll trust they were good reasons,” she says, watching him like a hawk. “I do hope you don’t plan on leaving him again.”

“We’ve agreed on getting married,” he replies, which isn’t really the response she’s looking for but he can not promise he won’t leave again. He does not want to, but his life is not one that allows for such certainties.

The woman pursues her lips, not looking quite happy although Jaskier had said that was the outcome she was expecting. “I had an arranged marriage,” she says after a beat, picking up her cup and re filling it to the brim. “Alfred-- Julien’s father, that is-- wasn’t… well. He didn’t mistreat me, but he didn’t love me and he never shied away from letting me know it.” It’s a form of mistreatment, Geralt thinks, but doesn’t say. She’s probably aware of it, anyhow. “I made my peace with it rather early on. We weren’t happy, but we were a good team and when Julian was born-- well, I finally found the love I had been looking for. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.” She smiles, although it’s a small and brittle thing. “I always knew Julian wasn’t like me, though and that was something Alfred and I agreed on. If we forced him into an arranged marriage as we had been, he wouldn’t resist it: he’d die inside. So we thought we would spare him of such fate.”

Geralt hums, uncertain of what he can say. He agrees, Jaskier would have withered away had he been forced into an unhappy marriage, but he’s not certain that their marriage will be much better. It’s not something he actually _wants_ , it’s just the less terrible option given the circumstances.

“I had hoped--” Lady Amaryllis sighs, rubbing her temples tiredly. “I wanted him to _have a choice_. And when he insisted on leaving to explore the world, I let him, because I thought that would make him happy. My Julian needed his freedom to thrive,” she smiles sadly, lost in her memories now. “To be completely honest, I wish he hadn’t fallen in love with you.”

Geralt grunts. Jaskier isn’t in love with him, but he can’t say that without giving away everything. “It’s not personal, you understand,” the Viscountess continues. “It’s just-- well. Based on what he has told me, I do believe you care for him, but it’s not an easy life the one you lead, nor is it particularly safe and my boy… he is a fragile thing.”

“You’d be surprised,” Geralt argues, his lips curving upwards very briefly. Jaskier is much stronger than anyone would give him credit for, Geralt included when they first met. He has proved over and over again that there’s more to him than what meets the eye and Geralt has witnessed more than once the strength of his spirit.

Lady Amaryllis huffs. “Of course, I didn’t mean--” she trails off, shaking her head. “There’s strength in him, particularly when it comes to standing up for himself and defending those he loves but… my Julian has a soft heart, Witcher. And he’s not careful with it.”

 _Ah, yes_. That’s a different matter entirely. “He loves freely and intensely, even those that the world believes do not deserve it, as I’m sure you can testify.” Geralt tries not to flinch; it’s not anything he hasn’t heard before. Witchers are not meant to be trusted and certainly not loved, and yet-- “I fear he has set himself up for heartbreak.”

Geralt _is_ setting himself up for heartbreak by putting up with this charade, but it matters not. He’s not completely blind to Jaskier’s affection though: he knows he hurt him after his cruel words at the mountains, he knows that you don’t need to be in love with someone for said someone to be able to break your heart. He knows that, in all likelihood, by staying with him, Jaskier will get hurt one way or another eventually.

Geralt closes his eyes, his heart clenching painfully inside his chest. “You wish me to deny your words,” he says after a brief pause. “You wish me to say that I do love him and that I’ll be careful with his heart, that I will not hurt him or allow him to get hurt.” He pauses, opening his eyes once more and staring at his interlocutor. “But I will not lie to you. I love him, but I can’t promise that.”

The Viscountess holds his stare for a beat and then she nods. “I appreciate your honesty,” she says, leaning back on her seat, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’ll try though, won’t you?”

Geralt nods. He’ll try to do better this time around; he does believe he’s learned his lesson and won’t be as careless with his words as before. He’ll be a good friend and while it’s not all he would want, he does hope it’ll be enough to ensure Jaskier’s happiness.

It’s all he can do, really.

* * *

Tiredness is not a feeling Geralt is very familiar with, his body well used to going for days without any rest. Right now however, his limbs do feel heavier and he’s looking forward to a full night of sleep on a decent bed, knowing Ciri is safe and Jaskier is with him once more.

Before he retires though, he should check on Ciri first.

A maid points him in the direction of the girl’s room, which he’s pleased to notice is just a couple of doors down Jaskier’s. He hasn’t actually asked about his own sleeping arrangements, but he assumes he’ll be staying with the Omega although maybe he’s presuming too much. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there and he really _really_ needs to check on the princess first.

He finds Ciri already abed, with Jaskier sitting next to her as they talk in quiet tones. The girl is smiling, amused by whatever Jaskier is telling her, one of her hands resting on the bard’s swollen belly. She looks up when Geralt enters the room and offers him a small smile that quickly turns to a grin as she turns to Jaskier. “I felt that!” she tells him, pressing a little harder. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” Jaskier answers with a shrug. “They get a little over excited at times and that can be a bit bothersome when I’m trying to sleep, but it’s not actually painful.” He looks in Geralt’s direction briefly, a sad smile on his lips before he turns to Ciri once more. “It’s nice, knowing you’re not alone.”

Geralt’s heart clenches at the heartbroken tone, thinking just how lonely Jaskier must have felt after their… _argument._ “I always wanted siblings,” Ciri tells him, sounding wistful. “My mom wanted more children too, but it wasn’t on the cards.”

Probably for the best, all things considered. Jaskier smiles at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before standing up. “Well, I suppose I’ll better retire for the night,” he says with a dramatic yawn. “I do tire more easily nowadays.”

Ciri nods, smiling. “Good night,” she offers and Jaskier smiles at her once more before heading for the door, resting a hand on Geralt’s arm on his way out.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he says, squeezing the Witcher’s arm and he hums in agreement. Jaskier’s smile is wistful, but he doesn’t say anything else before exiting the room, leaving Geralt with Ciri.

“I like him,” Ciri tells him earnestly. “I can see why you do too,” she continues and Geralt grunts. He hadn’t told her as much, but he imagines his actions spoke louder than words. “Are we staying, then?” the girl asks after a beat, watching him with wide trusting eyes.

“For a while,” Geralt agrees. “You should be safe here,” or as safe as she can currently be, given the circumstances. The Nilfgaardians, if rumors are to be trusted, are a bit busy regrouping after the Battle of Sodden and while that doesn’t mean he can let his guard down, he does believe they’ll be fine for a while.

Ciri hums. “It’ll be nice, I think,” she says, with a dreamy smile. “To attend a wedding after… well, everything. Also, I know birthings aren’t exactly fun, but I think it’ll be nice when the baby is actually born.”

Geralt most definitely doesn’t want to think about that. “I don’t imagine it’ll be a big wedding.”

Ciri snorts. “Oh, please. I’ve just met him and I already know _small_ and _discreet_ are not words that really feature on his vocabulary.”

Geralt frowns. Well, she does have a point, but-- “We’ll see,” he says finally and Ciri rolls her eyes at him, thinking he’s being deliberately dense. “Will you be fine?” he asks after a beat and the girl considers this briefly, chewing on her lip.

“I think so, yes,” she says finally, softly. “I haven’t had as many nightmares lately,” she murmurs, her voice watery and Geralt hums before pulling her into awkward hug. He’s terrible at this whole comfort-giving-thing, but he does try. “You’re just two doors down, anyway,” she continues, letting go of him. “Jaskier told me to just call for you.”

That probably says something about the thickness of the walls, although Geralt doesn’t think it really matters and so he just hums. “You do that,” he says, kissing her forehead too. “Good night, princess.”

“Good night,” she replies softly. _She’ll be fine,_ Geralt tells himself as he closes the door after himself. To be totally honest he’s a little nervous about leaving the girl on her own, but they’re safe here and hovering over her at all times will probably do neither of them any favours in the long run.

He had known, in theory, that parents tend to worry about their children.

He had never imagined how nerve wrecking it could be.

* * *

“I tried going back to Cintra once,” Jaskier tells him as Geralt changes for bed. “I didn’t make it past the city’s entrance,” he continues with a small grin. “I don’t imagine you fared much better.”

“Lord Eist had me thrown into a dungeon,” Geralt replies. “The Queen tried to deceive me, but it was her husband the one who figured the best solution to their quandrom.”

Jaskier huffs. “Destiny works in mysterious ways,” he murmurs, leaning back on the small fort of pillows he’s built around himself. “I shudder to think what would have happened to the poor darling if she hadn’t been your child of surprise.”

If they had run into each other, Geralt would have looked after her. But he wouldn’t have been looking for her and he might have been far away from Cintra at the time.

“When I heard the rumors of Nilfgaard getting ready to invade Cintra…” Jaskier begins, a conflicted expression on his face. “I knew you’d head there and I even considered meeting you there.” He shakes his head, expression downcast. “I wanted to see you, but I figured I’d be more of a nuisance than any help. After all, I’m--”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Geralt interrupts sharply, turning to face him. “I didn’t mean any of the things I said. You’re not-- I valued your presence, even if you weren’t much help at times.”

Jaskier holds his stare for a beat, before dropping it to his hands, linked over his abdomen. “You made some fair points,” he murmurs softly, rubbing his belly thoughtfully. “And in this particular case, I was in no state to be traveling.”

That much is true. “How far along are you, anyway?” Geralt asks, sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room. He feels... odd. He’s tired and he does want to lie down, but at the same time--

“Eight months, more or less,” Jaskier replies. “So you see, you arrived just in time for us to get marry before the baby is born,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Geralt frowns. “You’re not-- I mean-- is that normal?” he asks, pointing at Jaskier’s belly. He had thought he wasn’t that far along: it’s certainly showing, but it’s nowhere near big enough for the baby to be nearly full term, is it?

Jaskier shrugs. “According to the midwife, nothing seems to be amiss. I feel perfectly fine, so I’m going to assume everything is fine.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced though and it occurs Geralt he broached a particularly sensible subject with his usual lack of tact. “Do you want to feel them?” Jaskier asks, a little hesitant, expression a tad wary.

Geralt does want to reach out and touch, but he’s not entirely sure it’s truly welcome. “Don’t you mind?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, signaling for him to step closer. Geralt obeys, albeit a bit reluctantly and the Omega reaches for his wrist, pulling him the rest of the way and pressing his hand against the side of his bump.

For a few minutes, Geralt feels nothing but the soft material of Jaskier’s gown stretched against his belly and then-- “ _Oh_ ,” he murmurs breathlessly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s a strong kick.”

Jaskier huffs, amused but he’s smiling honestly too. “You can see why I have trouble falling asleep,” he says, resting a hand over Geralt’s. For a beat neither speak, waiting for the baby to move once more. “They don’t seem very energetic tonight though.”

Geralt hums, pulling away and retreating to the other side of the room once more under the pretense of unpacking the rest of his belongings.

Behind him, he can hear Jaskier shifting nervously. “What did my mother tell you, anyway? Did she give you the shovel talk?” Geralt hums in confusion and Jaskier chuckles good naturedly. “You know, the _hurt him and I’ll hurt you-_ talk?”

Geralt hums. It was the general gist, he supposes. “She’s always been a little overprotective,” Jaskier comments, sounding thoughtful. “She always tried to be supportive, but I could always tell she worried.”

Again, Geralt hums. “She loves you,” he points out although he imagines Jaskier already knows. He wonders if he also knows how lucky he is and hurries to shove that thought away: he’s not thinking of his own mother, not now.

“Yes,” Jaskier agrees softly. “I know. She didn’t want me to go away, but she accepted my choice all the same. You know, if you love someone you need to let them be free.” Geralt can hear the longing in his tone, although he can’t understand it. What--? “I felt a little guilty on occasion, though. She must have gotten lonely.”

Geralt nods, thinking of his conversation with Jaskier’s mother. Yes, she must have felt very lonely in her loveless marriage and with her son (her one true love) far away. “She loved my father a lot, you know?” Jaskier continues, tone soft and regretful. “But he-- well, let’s just say he had his sights set elsewhere.” He chuckles a tad bitterly. “It happens, of course: sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us and sometimes… sometimes even if we do, the heart wants what it wants.”

Geralt has no idea what to say to that.

For a while, there’s no other sound but their breathing and finally he hears Jaskier shifting on the bed once more. “Well, I think I’m going to sleep now,” the Omega tells him. “You’re welcome to join, whenever you want.”

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t turn, continuing to fuss over his things. It’s a flimsy excuse to not face his companion right now, when he’s feeling oddly raw and he has no doubt Jaskier can see through it quite easily but he doesn’t call him out on it and for that Geralt is grateful.

He feels… wrong footed. So far nothing has worked out as he thought it would: in his mind, there were only two possibilities when he and Jaskier meet again. Either the bard would send him away with a few sharp words or he’d take him back with open arms.

This in between-- he doesn’t know what to do with it. There’s too much going on, he isn’t entirely sure how Jaskier really feels about his presence and there’s a certain tension hanging between them that he has no idea how to address.

Nothing for it of course.

Only time will tell.

* * *

Geralt is not at all surprised when he wakes up to find he has managed to find a way over Jaskier’s small pillow fort and now he’s holding the Omega in his arms, bodies pressed chest to back, his nose buried in his companion’s nape.

He sighs, but doesn’t relish his hold, at least not yet. _Before_ , it wasn’t unusual for them to end in this position when they happened to share a bed and that’s not something that Geralt can easily explain: he’s not _cuddly_ by nature, he does not enjoy physical contact in the way most humans do. He’s always been one to stick to his side of the bed, even when with a lover and yet, something about Jaskier--

He takes a deep whiff of his companion’s scent, allowing it to relax him. Jaskier never minded this unexpected cuddle sessions, so Geralt stopped caring about them soon enough. It’s a bit of a selfish indulgence and it’s something he ought not to have allowed himself to ever do: he told himself over and over again that he was never going to pursue a relationship with Jaskier, that he’d never try to be anything other than his friend, but then, there was no harm in indulging in a little fantasy, was there?

Except of course there is.

What he’s doing right now however, is a different exercise in a whole new kind of torture. Jaskier’s scent is pretty much the same, but it’s not longer laced with Geralt’s own earthy tones. Once upon a time he had smelt like he was Geralt’s, with all the time they spent together and the occasional shared baths and beds leading to their scents to mix. It had been an illusion and anyone who got a closer sniff would have noticed they weren’t actually mated, but Geralt can admit, at least to himself, that in his weaker moments he allowed himself to imagine it was true.

Love is not a concept Geralt ever claimed to truly understand. He remembers his brief affair with Renfri and what he had felt back then: it hadn’t been love, but it had been the possibility of it, he is sure. And then Yennefer-- well, the sorceress’ considerable charm played a part, he’s sure and as with Renfri, he felt the immediate pull towards her. He had understood or at least he had thought he understood what he had felt both times: attraction, companionship, _acceptance._ He had thought it could be love and maybe it would have been, if destiny hadn’t intervened. 

That’s not at all what he feels for Jaskier, though. Oh, sure, there’s a level of attraction and he does enjoy the bard’s presence and he knows the other man accepts him exactly as he is. But he hadn’t felt that original pull, he hadn’t thought much of him at the beginning in fact. And yet, as time passed and they spent more time together, the _something_ between them grew and maybe that’s what makes it different, what makes it stronger. With Jaskier he has had _time,_ time to build a stronger connection, time for destiny to intervene and for them to find their way back to each other.

And here’s another difference and to be honest, the one difference that has always kept Geralt away: _it terrifies him_ . With Renfri and Yennefer, he had welcomed the feeling, mysterious and unfamiliar as it was. With Jaskier it has always made him feel like building up his walls, _fortify_ them and yet they always crumble away, over and over again. 

He pulls Jaskier closer, smiling when the bard makes a pleased sound and pushes back instead of pulling away. He runs a hand over his companion’s abdomen, receiving a kick for his troubles. He smiles some more, allowing himself yet another lovely fantasy. It couldn’t have been, even if he and Jaskier had actually been together: Witchers are, after all, sterile, but--

He sighs once more. He’s thankful, he thinks, for what’s been allowed to have despite everything else. At least Jaskier is back in his life and they are getting married and they’ll raise the pup together and they’ll be sort of a family so all in all…

It could be worse, certainly.

Lots worse, in fact.

* * *

“It’s my wedding day, Geralt,” Jaskier argues, arms crossed over his chest, trying and failing to look imposing. “You can not take that away from me.”

The Witcher does his level best not to roll his eyes. “I’m just saying something a little smaller--”

“Smaller!” Jaskier exclaims dramatically, throwing his arms up. “Smaller! You hear him, mother? It’s like he doesn’t know me at all!”

Lady Amaryllis hums, continuing her perusal of her morning paper. Jaskier glares at her, a betrayed expression on his face and Ciri giggles, hiding her smile behind her cup of tea when Jaskier turns to her.

“I do know of your penchant for drama,” Geralt says, earning himself an insulted huff from his _fiancé._ “You do realize this is my wedding too?”

Jaskier huffs. “Yes and if it was up to you we would go down to the town hall and be done with it,” he replies, reviewing his notes, thinking it’s becoming quite clear he’ll be alone on his endeavour of organizing the best wedding ever. “And no, that’s not an option.”

Geralt grunts, conceding defeat. There’s little use on arguing with Jaskier over certain subjects and he suspects this is one of those arguments he has little hope of winning. “You’re on my side, aren’t you Fiona dear?” Jaskier asks, looking up from his notes once more, a hopeful expression on his face.

“Of course,” Ciri answers, mostly to spite Geralt, the Witcher suspects. “The bigger the better.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Jaskier says, leaning to kiss the top of her head and Geralt narrows his eyes at her, making the girl giggle some more. “You realize we’re ganging up on you forever more, right? It’s two against one,” the bard says with his best innocent smile.

“I expected nothing less,” Geralt replies, allowing himself the smallest of smiles and earning himself a grin for his troubles.

“Good,” Jaskier says, nodding to himself.

“At least until the babe learns to talk,” Geralt points out.

Jaskier huffs. “As if,” he says. “Then it’ll be three against one.”

“We’ll see,” Geralt replies with a shrug and he isn’t quite sure what to make of Jaskier’s thoughtful expression. He had been teasing, mostly and he had thought they were having a good time, but something in the Omega’s expression...

“We’ll see,” Jaskier agrees finally, dropping his eyes to his notes once more, the soft smile on his lips making Geralt think maybe he did not mess up.

He can only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I have a serious question: do you guys want to see Jaskier’s POV? I don’t have enough of it to write a full chapter, I don’t think; there are certain parts I’d rather have Geralt’s POV to work with but I do have a couple of scenes I would like to write from Jaskier’s POV. They wouldn’t actually help advance the plot and will probably only tells us what we already know, but if it’s something you’d be interested in, let me know ;)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the new chapter! I meant to make this a little longer, but the next part felt better off as a different chapter and well… I figured it’d work like this :P I hope that was a good call ;)  
> Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy!

Jaskier had meant to tell his mother the truth of his pup’s parentage: after all, his mother had always been deeply supportive of all his choices and while she no doubt would worry, she would understand his decision. 

But then he had mentioned Geralt and their travels together and next thing he knew, he was telling her the version of events that he had wished had come to pass; the version that had only existed within his daydreams and that had fed his love sickness for years.

And what a lovely version it was; what a sweet tale of love and understanding. It was easy to go from there, one thing leading to another and before Jaskier knew it, he had been telling his mother that the pup was of his beloved.

As soon as he said it, Jaskier realized how badly he wanted it to be true: how much he wished that the Witcher had left him with something other than his broken heart to show for his troubles. It was the sort of lie that could (and would) spiral out of control, he had known that sooner or later the truth would come to bite him in the ass, but he hadn’t quite expected it to come in the form of the actual Witcher. Neither had he expected Geralt would go along with it, to protect Jaskier from… well, whatever Geralt imagined he was protecting him from.

 _It’s not right_ , he thinks, to carry on with the charade. He should tell his mother the truth and free Geralt of an engagement he doesn’t want. At the same time however--

“Why did you come to Letthenhove?” he asks as they lie together in bed, the Witcher staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. Jaskier has surrounded himself by his usual fort of pillows, but he knows come morning they’ll be long gone and he’ll find himself cradled in Geralt’s arms, which, truth be told, are a hundred times more comfortable than any pillow will ever be.

Geralt sighs, looking at him from the corner of his eye. “I told you I didn’t mean what I said at the mountains,” he replies after a while, sounding awfully reluctant to speak. “And I-- I missed you. But more than that, I realized-- I realized I owed you a thousand apologies.”

Jaskier frowns, considering. “You were actually looking for me,” he whispers softly, in awe.

Geralt scoffs. “Well, yes, of course. What else would I be doing in Letthenhove? Do you have any monsters problems I don’t know about?” he’s teasing, although someone not as familiar with his deadpan tone wouldn’t notice. Jaskier finds himself smiling, a small and brittle thing.

“I just-- I didn’t think you would. After what you said--” Geralt makes a protest sound and Jaskier silences him with a look. “I know you didn’t mean most of it. But I did believe-- well, what was I, other than an annoying _troublesome_ travel companion?”

“You are my friend,” Geralt whispers, earnest, reaching for him but hesitating before actually touching him. “Of course I came looking for you.”

Jaskier chuckles, although it sounds a bit like a sob and the tears running down his cheeks probably help that notion. “Damned pregnancy hormones,” he murmurs, whipping away his tears. “Make me all emotional.”

Geralt hums, slowly sliding closer to him, pushing a few pillows out of the way. They cuddle often enough in their sleep of course, but this is intentional, premeditated. “I’m sorry,” the Witcher whispers once more, so soft that no one other than Jaskier could hear, but he hears it alright and he nods, curling closer to his companion.

He should say something, he thinks. Friends don’t make their friends marry them out of pity.

And yet--

* * *

Truth be told, Jaskier might have never seen himself as the marrying type, but he had certainly been planning his wedding for a very long time. Marriage didn’t appeal to him, but _a wedding_? Now that’s a concept he could totally get behind.

After all, he’s always had a weakness for big events and parties, especially when he gets to be the center of attention. In his mind, he could see himself dressed in his finest clothes, looking his very best, all eyes on him. His future spouse was always a bit of a nebulous image, taking the form of whoever had taken his fancy lately, if only for a little while. Not so much in the last five - six years, though. Oh, no, in those last few years, the image of the groom was a little clearer in his head, even if deep down he had known it could not be.

Except it seems that’s exactly what he’s going to get.

A little incredulous laugh escapes him, earning him a few concerned stares from the seamstress and her assistants, but he pays them no mind. He wouldn’t have thought his little lie would get him his dearest wish, but somehow it did and while he wishes things were different--

Well. He’s marrying the man he loves. Surely that counts for something?

* * *

Time flies some times and before he knows it, the wedding date is finally upon them. Jaskier isn’t entirely sure how he’s feeling, torn between elation and dread. “Do you really want to do this, pet?”

Jaskier nearly jumps out of his skin at his mother’s unexpected comment, turning around to face her. The woman is watching him with a concerned expression and Jaskier’s heart constricts inside his chest. “Whatever you mean, mum?”

His mother sighs, approaching him and starting to fuss with his clothes. Jaskier allows it, although he thinks she might not be helping much at all; it’s nice though and his mother’s closeness and scent helps to soothe something deep within himself.

“You know you don’t have to do if you don’t want to, right?” his mother asks kindly, pushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “It’s perfectly fine if you’ve changed your mind.”

Jaskier nearly laughs, he can feel the hysterical sound bubbling up inside. “I do want to get married to Geralt, mum,” he says. _I only wish it was real,_ he doesn’t say.

But alas, we can’t always get what we want.

* * *

Is it curious, Geralt wonders, that the first wedding he’s ever attended happens to also be his? He’s gone to his fair share of engagement feasts and birthday celebrations, but never to a wedding. As such, he’s not entirely sure of the protocol, although Ciri did try to teach him, to ensure he wouldn’t mess up too badly. Unfortunately, whenever the subject arised, Geralt found it hard to concentrate on anything that wasn’t the fact that _he’s getting married_. And to Jaskier of all people!

He’s still not entirely sure how he feels about the whole ordeal. At points he feels honestly ecstatic, at points he feels nothing but concern at the prospect. In any case, he suspects it might be too late to back off, seeing the ceremony is about to begin and he can see Jaskier standing at the other end of the aisle, looking nervous but eager.

It can’t be that bad, Geralt thinks. It’s not like they don’t know each other and he certainly likes the bard quite a lot, he might go as far as to say he loves him so… it could be worse, truly. In fact, it’d be quite good if it wasn’t for the little fact that it’s _not real_.

But that’s not here nor there, is it?

* * *

Geralt spends the whole ceremony watching Jaskier, analyzing the many expressions that cross his face at all times. He seems-- well, maybe not happy, but _content_ and he spends a lot of time smiling wistfully while occasionally rubbing his belly. He’s looking quite handsome, truth be told: the pregnancy suits him well, he’s practically _glowing_. Geralt has the urge to reach out and touch him more than once, to assure himself that he’s real and that this isn’t some elaborated dream, but he holds himself back because even if it’s a dream, he doesn’t think he wants to wake up.

Jaskier recites his vows without a hitch, voice steady but devoid of any real emotion. Geralt isn’t sure anyone truly notices, but he does and it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly: none of this is real, the vows mean nothing at all, but a part of him is all too happy to forget that and bask in the ilusion.

He stares at their matching rings as they hold hands after having exchanged vows. All things considered, the rings are quite simple: white gold bands with a single diamond in Jaskier’s case. It’s probably a concession for Geralt’s distaste of all things flashy and his lips curve upwards just the slightest bit, the gesture not going missed by his companion who offers him a knowing smile.

“And now you may kiss,” the officiant says and Geralt’s brain freezes. He had failed to consider that would happen; so far they’ve got away with not showing much affection because Geralt is a Witcher and a terribly private one at that, but the kiss is technically a part of the ceremony and so--

He doesn’t allow himself to overthink it, he leans forward and captures Jaskier’s lips in a soft kiss that maybe ought to be more hesitant, but he tells himself he’s selling a story here. Jaskier freezes for a beat and Geralt’s squeezes the hand he’s still holding: he does not want to pull away, but maybe he overstepped and that--

Before he can work himself into a panic though, Jaskier melts into him, making a soft _purring_ sound that shoots a wave of arousal down Geralt’s body. His arms come to wrap themselves around his _husband’s_ waist not pulling away until the officiant clears his throat very pointedly.

Oh, right. They’re not alone. They’re not alone and none of this is real and he really shouldn’t allow himself to get carried away.

"That-- that was a very good kiss," Jaskier says, a little out of breath. His cheeks are aflame and he’s avoiding Geralt’s eye, but he doesn’t look put off, not by far.

Geralt arches an eyebrow, slightly amused. "High praise, coming from you," he tells him cheekily and Jaskier huffs, finally looking at him, eyes alight with laughter. 

"Don't let it get to your head," he replies, shoving his shoulder playfully and Geralt hums, a slight smile on his lips as he pulls the bard closer once more. Jaskier doesn’t resist, looking upwards and standing on his tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Geralt’s jaw which makes the Witcher want to properly kiss him once again.

“Behave, husband. What will your guests think?” he asks playfully and Jaskier rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, shoving him away once more, grinning brightly.

He does look happy, Geralt thinks.

And that’s enough for him.

* * *

He spends the rest of the party hovering over Jaskier, glaring darkly at anyone who as much as dares to make a mean spirited comment regarding the pregnancy. Geralt does not know who most of these people are and he stopped paying attention to the introductions _hours_ ago, but they all seem to think either he or Jaskier care about their opinions on their rushed marriage and the reason behind it and Geralt is all too happy to correct them of their erroneous notions via menacing glares.

“Stop that,” Jaskier says with a little giggle as the latest… uncle? cousin? _whatever_ rushes away.

“Stop what?” Geralt asks, aiming to sound innocent and failing miserably no doubt. Jaskier laughs, shaking his head. “I assure you I don’t know what you mean, husband.”

Jaskier hums, continuing to thread through the crowd. It’s getting late and the crowd has considerably shrunk since the ceremony, but there are still many milling around. “Aren’t you tired?” Geralt asks. “It’s well past your new bedtime.”

Jaskier huffs. “ _Bedtime,_ ” he murmurs. “What am I, ten? And by the way, where’s our actual 10-year-old pup?”

“Dancing,” Geralt replies with a shrug, pointing in the general direction of the dance floor where are group of children are milling about, Ciri among them. “Or something like that,” he adds, frowning a little as he watches.

Jaskier chuckles, resting a hand on Geralt’s arm. “That’s good. After… well, _everything,_ she definitely needed a little distraction.”

“She’s looking forward to the birth,” Geralt tells him, watching the hand on his arm from the corner of his eye, uncertain of how he feels about it. “I don’t think she’s really aware of the work that having a newborn pup implies.”

“Oh, but that’s not a problem for her,” Jaskier replies with a little smile. “Everyone knows that the minute the pup starts fussing, they become their parent’s problem.”

Geralt grunts. “Well, they can’t be more fussy that you.”

“Hey!” Jaskier exclaims, chuckling as he slaps Geralt’s arm playfully. “I resent that,” he says with a smile, rubbing his bump once more. Geralt hesitates, but finally places a hand of top of his and Jaskier looks up at him, a soft smile on his lips.

They stand like that for a beat, neither of them moving, the moment feeling charged. But then Jaskier is yawning and the moment breaks. “We should retire,” Geralt tells him, pulling away as he wonders if it’ll be rude to simply leave without informing anyone.

“Why, Geralt, eager to consummate our marriage, are you?” Jaskier asks with a mischievous smile and Geralt ignores the warmth spreading across his body at the thought.

“One could argue there’s no need for that,” Geralt says, starting to guide him in the direction of their quarters, having decided it’s their wedding and they should be allowed to do anything they want. “Seeing you’re already carrying my pup.”

Except he isn’t, but that’s not a thought Geralt really wants to consider right now. “Indeed,” Jaskier replies softly, dropping his eyes to the floor, letting Geralt guide him back to their room. He sounds... odd, but Geralt can’t exactly figure out why and a voice in the back of his head is telling him to leave it like that.

Yes, that’s probably for the best.

* * *

Geralt watches as Jaskier undresses, more than a little baffled by the sheer amount of layers he’s using. “That doesn’t seem terribly practical,” he comments, leaning back on the bed, having finished undressing quite a bit ago.

“Wedding clothes aren’t meant to be practical,” Jaskier tells him, fighting and losing a battle with the ridiculous amount of buttons of his overly complicated jacket that start at the front and end on his back. “They’re meant to look pretty.”

Geralt hums, still watching. “Do you need help?” he asks just as the jacket lands on the floor and Jaskier lets out a triumphant cheer.

“Nearly done,” Jaskier replies, turning his attention to his pants. Geralt suspects the complicated clothes are only more complicated to navigate around Jaskier’s round middle, but he doesn’t think he ought to say anything about that. “Aha!” he exclaims cheerfully, having been much more successful this time around, his pants pooling at his feet now.

“Well done,” Geralt praises with a smirk, earning himself a glare from his husband. “Now come to bed,” he orders, pointing at the other side of the bed.

“Bossy, bossy,” Jaskier comments jokingly, picking up his discarded clothes and dropping them on the chair by the desk. “I should have known your bedroom manners weren’t much better than your regular manners.”

Geralt would roll his eyes, but that would mean missing the sight he’s currently being gifted with. Jaskier has always worn his overly fancy chemise to bed and little else, the thing long enough to cover half of his tights. With his swollen belly though, it climbs a little higher up, revealing much more creamy skinny.

It’s a downright inmoral sight, truly.

And so very tempting.

He’s half tempted to make a quip about the marriage consummation once more, but Geralt thinks that might be a little counterproductive. His throat feels dry as the desert and he very much doubts he could speak without betraying himself.

“Well, goodnight then,” Jaskier says, settling himself on his side of the bed. His cheeks look a little red and Geralt wonders if Jaskier caught him staring. “Sleep well, _husband,_ ” he says tone light and teasing and Geralt grunts in response.

He knew this was a terrible idea, of course.

And now it’s too late to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, it ended up being on the short side, but I didn’t have much idea of what else to write so… I hope I’ll make up for it in the next one though ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
> And on a slightly unrelated note (or maybe not so unrelated?), some of you might be aware the Fandom Trumps Hate Auction is taking place again this year (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can find more info [here. ](https://fandomtrumpshate.dreamwidth.org/)  
> For fourth year in a row I’m offering a fic for the auction, so if you’re interested, here’s the link to my [post](https://fth2020offerings.dreamwidth.org/tag/username:+ylc).   
> Bidding begins on monday 24th and ends on the 28th, remember, it’s for a good cause! And also be sure to check out other collaborators posts :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Sorry for the late update, but I hope you’ll enjoy it all the same! ;)

Jaskier has always been very touchy. Even in the early days of their acquittance, he never hesitated to reach out and touch, never flinching even when Geralt responded with a growl. 

So Geralt has come to expect a certain level of touching when he's around the other man. He's never been one to show affection freely and the first few times he visibly froze when Jaskier as much as grabbed his arm but with time, he got used to it, even returning the occasional embraces from time to time. 

This however, is a completely different level of affection. 

Jaskier has always sit too close and he never really had much of a sense of personal space, but now he often drops himself on Geralt’s lap, burying his face against the Witcher’s neck, nuzzling him affectionately. Geralt doesn’t mind, not exactly, only he doesn’t know what to do about it, not sure if returning the affectionate gesture is pressing his advantage. Pregnant Omegas get all kind of sensible, he knows; they often get clingy and need constant reassurance from their mates, but given the circumstances… 

Well. He can’t help feeling like he's taking advantage. 

There’s no denying he enjoys the closeness though, especially now after all they've been through. He had thought he had lost Jaskier to his careless and callous words for good and to have him like this-- loving and pliant under his attentions, humming happily whenever Geralt rubs his cheek against the top of his head--

Well. He's too weak to resist such gift. 

So he says nothing and simply enjoys the other man's nearness, telling himself it's just hormones and things will go back to normal soon enough but there's no harm in indulging in the meantime. 

A part of him wishes that it was more than that though. 

But he does know better than to hope for too much. 

* * *

Days pass and normally Geralt would be half mad with the lack of activity; all this peace and quiet is far from the life he’s always lead. It’s not in his nature to stay still, it’s certainly not what he was created for, but--

There’s no harm, he thinks, in indulging in this illusion of peace. It’s not meant to last and sooner or later he’ll have to be on the move once more, this time bringing a child, a husband and a newborn pup along and so he does believe he should enjoy it while it lasts: if nothing else, they’ll be pleasant memories to look back at when things inevitably go to shit.

He watches Ciri, so content now, spending her mornings running around town with other children for company, trying to escape her etiquette lessons in the afternoon (Geralt isn’t quite sure why she’d need to learn that, but he hadn’t thought it wise to defy his mother-in-law’s oders on the matter). In short, he watches her being a _regular_ ten year old and he can’t help wondering if it wouldn’t be best for everyone involved if she stayed here.

There is of course the small matter of the Nilfgaardian army looking for her, but other than that, he does believe it’d be better for her.

And there’s of course the matter of his husband and his unborn pup. Jaskier had complained quite a lot when traveling with Geralt: he hadn’t meant it half of the time, but that didn’t stop him from making a nuisance out of himself and Geralt doesn’t really expect it’ll be any better this second time around. He expects Jaskier will complain and try to drag him into every available inn they happen to pass by and while the prospect isn’t annoying, not really, Geralt can’t help thinking it’s _not right_. If he’s learned anything in these few weeks in Lettenhove is that Jaskier was always meant for this luxurious life and to drag him into the mess that Geralt’s life is--

Of course, Jaskier had chosen that life when he decided to follow the Witcher the first time around, but there wasn’t a pup to consider back then.

Geralt does not believe that’ll be particularly easy and he fears that, given enough time, Jaskier will grow to resent him. But if he tells him to stay back now, he also knows the bard is unlikely to forgive him and with their relationship still on uneven ground, that’s a risk he’s not willing to take.

He sighs, pondering his options. It’s not like he has to make a choice right now, but he must consider his options carefully, measure pros and cons before he’s forced to act.

It’s unfortunate that Geralt has always been more of an action man.

* * *

Pain is something that Geralt knows quite well. Ever since he started his training as a Witcher, it became commonplace: for many years it was his bread and butter. It became so familiar to him, that at some point it just became background noise in his everyday.

But while he barely notices his own pain, having long ago accepted that’s just part of his life, he can hardly stand seeing others in pain, particularly others he cares about. It was the main reason why he stayed alone for so many years, fearful of causing others pain, knowing it was almost certain he would one way or another. His one slip with Renfri all those years ago had further cemented his belief that it was in everyone’s best interests that he kept his distance.

And then of course, Jaskier had happened.

Over the years, he became quite familiar with the scent of Jaskier in pain, the bard’s total disregard for his own safety never failing to land him in trouble and try as he might, Geralt could not always protect him. Jaskier had got hurt and injured plenty while traveling with Geralt, but the thought of his friend in pain never got easier; each time it happened the guilt would eat him inside. If only he had been quicker, stronger, _better--_

And then there was of course the _incident_ at the mountains, although Geralt is trying his very best not to think about that particular type of injury.

The point is, the scent of Jaskier in pain has always sit unwell with Geralt, prompting him to do something to minimize it as much as he could. For the most part that meant taking him to a healer and on the occasions when the hurt was more emotional than physical, give the occasional gentle touch or the even odder hug.

Right now however, Geralt is at lost of what to do. There’s nothing he can do to stop or lessen Jaskier’s pain, nothing but hold him and keep murmuring soothing nonsense that he very much doubts the Omega is actually hearing.

Jaskier rests his head against Geralt’s shoulder, looking thoroughly exhausted, his hair sticky with sweat. Geralt nuzzles his neck distractedly, scenting him, which according to the midwife it’s supposed to help a little, but that he very much doubts it actually does.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore, Geralt,” Jaskier says, voice barely audible, stretching his neck to grant him better access. “I’m very tired.”

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Geralt murmurs softly, running one hand through his companion’s hair. He knew, in theory, that labor was complicated and painful business, but he hadn’t imagined it’d be this bad. “How much longer?” he asks the midwife, who shakes her head miserably.

“Hard to tell,” she replies camly. “Another hour, maybe.”

“Another hour?!” Jaskier whines, looking miserable. “I don’t wanna,” he complains and Geralt would normally find all his complaining exaggerated, but in this particular case he must admit his companion isn’t being unreasonable. It’s been ten hours since the contractions started, after all. Eleven hours feel like too much.

“Oh, love, you’re doing really well,” Lady Amaryllis says, coming to sit on the bed too, caressing her son’s face gently and Geralt can’t help the slight flare of jealousy he feels when Jaskier leans so willing into the touch, scenting his mother’s wrist. “It took you fourteen hours to be born, you know?”

 _Fourteen_?! Is that humanly possible?

Clearly Geralt knows nothing of pain. “Is there something we can do?” he asks, kissing the top of Jaskier’s head when he groans in pain as another contraction hits.

“You could try walking for a while again,” the midwife says, although she doesn’t look very hopeful.

“No,” Jaskier says, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna,” he complains. “Hold me,” he orders Geralt, which he’s doing already, but he tightens his hold around him. It’s not a very comfortable position to be in, truth be told, with Jaskier sitting between his legs, his back pressed against his chest. It was nice for the first hour or so, but his legs are starting to hurt, his circulation not the best given their position.

Of course, he imagines Jaskier has it much worse. “It’ll be fine,” he promises him, although he’s beginning to doubt that. The Omega doesn’t seem to believe him, but doesn’t protest, closing his eyes and continuing to lean against Geralt.

Geralt sighs and then he starts humming softly. Jaskier’s lips curve into a tired smile, opening his eyes briefly. “So you do know my songs.”

“Hardly. I know the melodies,” Geralt points out gruffly. “I’ve listened to them often enough, haven’t I?”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, closing his eyes once again, but his soft pleased smile remains, making Geralt smile softly too. He looks away from his husband and finds his mother-in-law looking at him with a fond smile of her own and Geralt tries not to blush but loses that particular battle when he sees the midwife’s expression, also smiling softly.

He sort of forgot they weren’t alone. Still, he starts humming once more, figuring it doesn’t really matter.

Today is an especial day, after all. Surely even Witchers are allowed some sentimentality in days like these.

He kisses Jaskier’s temple, earning himself a pleased hum.

Yes, some sentimentality is definitely allowed.

* * *

Ciri bounces into the room some time after lunch, red cheeked and smiling, looking like she’s been running and playing quite a bit. “Still no pup?” she asks, sounding thoroughly disappointed.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Geralt replies, watching as Jaskier’s eyes flutter open. He can’t exactly sleep, but he’s been lightly napping, tiredness catching up with him despite the pain and anxiety.

“Hello Ciri,” Jaskier greets her, smiling tiredly. “Were you out playing?”

Ciri grins, plopping herself on the bed and Geralt narrows his eyes at her, lightly chiding her for her carelessness. The girl however happily ignores him, in favor of telling Jaskier all she’s been up to so far, while she waits for her honorary sibling to be born.

Geralt is not very sure how he feels about Ciri’s term for the pup, truth be told.

He rests his chin against the top of Jaskier’s head, closing his eyes, allowing the sounds of his companions’ talk wash over him. Witchers need less sleep than humans under normal circumstances, but he considers these have been anything but normal. He is tired, even though he’s been doing nothing but sitting around, but Jaskier’s pain and distress is wreaking havoc on his nerves, making him itchy and irritable.

He’s not used to this level of inactivity and certainly not when there’s people he cares about suffering.

He sighs, nuzzling Jaskier’s jaw distractedly once more. There’s nothing to do but wait, he supposes.

But he certainly doesn’t like it.

* * *

“No, no, I’m definitely not doing this,” Jaskier declares, struggling in Geralt’s arms. Who knows where he got to strenght to try to, but panic makes people do crazy things.

“It’s not like it can be stopped,” the midwife murmurs sulkily with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just a couple of pushes--”

“Yes, well, I’m not-- oh god oh god oh god-- please stop!”

The contractions are coming much closer now and either they’re stronger or the closeness between them make them feel more painful, but either way the midwife says it’s time now. Jaskier had been quite eager for it, in his own words _wanting to be done with it already,_ but after the first push-- “Nononono,” he exclaims, shaking his head furiously. “I can’t do it.”

“You can and you will,” the midwife informs him very seriously. Geralt looks between his husband and the midwife, uncertain of what to do. “Hold him,” she instructs him, as if that’s not what Geralt has been doing for _sixteen hours_ now, but he nods all the same.

“Nonononono,” Jaskier continues chanting. “Geralt, do something.”

Geralt would very much like to do something, but he very much doubts there’s anything he _can_ do. He nuzzles his companion’s jaw affectionately, hoping to distract him to some degree, hoping his scent will help soothe him.

“It’s going to be fine,” he promises, a little uselessly, pressing a quick kiss to his partner’s pulse point. “You can do this,” he assures him and Jaskier whines, shaking his head once more. Geralt’s instincts are on overdrive, urging him to do something about his mate’s pain, but also knowing there’s nothing he can actually do.

“You’ll be fine,” the midwife informs him very seriously. “Now focus.”

Jaskier whines but nods, squeezing Geralt’s wrist with all his might as another contraction hits. Geralt barely feels it, too distracted by his own emotions to pay it any mind.

What follows next is a bit of a blur, with Jaskier’s screams filling his ears. Geralt has never felt more useless in his long life, holding his husband as he gives birth to their pup. Only of course the pup isn’t actually his, but that’s not a thought to be contemplating right now, not when there are much more pressing concerns, not when--

“It’s a boy!” the midwife exclaims triumphantly as the babe lets out a loud wail, obviously unhappy about the whole ordeal. “A perfectly healthy boy, it seems.”

Geralt’s whole focus is on Jaskier though, who has gone a little limp in his arms. He’s breathing, which he supposes it’s a good thing, but he smells too much of blood and he’s not sure if that’s normal or not.

“Jaskier--”

“I’m fine,” the Omega whispers, leaning back on his arms, his face deadly pale. “Just-- I need a minute.”

Geralt hums, rubbing his arms comfortingly. “You did very well,” he tells him.

“Indeed,” the midwife agrees, although most of her focus is on the newborn babe. “I’ll get this little one cleaned up and will bring him right back to you.” Jaskier’s scent spikes with fear, a instinctual response to his pup being taken away Geralt guesses and before he knows it he’s growling threateningly.

The midwife huffs, rolling her eyes and wrapping the pup in a clean sheet. “Or not,” she says, passing the little buddle to Jaskier. “It can wait for later, I guess,” she murmurs sulkily, but nor Geralt nor Jaskier are paying her any mind anymore, both staring at the newborn.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs softly, Geralt helping him support the baby’s weight since it’s clear his husband has no strength left in him. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

Pups, especially very young ones have always looked pretty much the same to Geralt, truth be told. This one however does not: maybe it’s the very big very blue eyes, so very distinctive. “Yes,” he agrees softly, nuzzling his companion’s jaw once more. He supposes he’ll eventually have to stop taking all this liberties of scenting Jaskier at random times, but right now it feels like the most natural thing to do.

He meets Jaskier’s eyes then and not for the first time, he thinks he could drown in them. He’s always liked Jaskier’s eyes: so very blue, always full of hope (except for that one time he’s definitely not thinking about). If eyes are the window of the soul, he imagines Jaskier’s is the most beautiful of them.

Jaskier smiles, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before turning his attention to the babe who’s making soft noises. Jaskier starts humming, a melody Geralt doesn’t actually recognize and the Witcher smiles, holding his companion a little tighter, warmth spreading across his chest as Jaskier relaxes further into his embrace.

He stares at the pup for a while, taking in his small features and the few blond curls sitting atop of his head, now mostly red due all the blood. Geralt does not consider himself a sentimental man and yet, the sentiment he expressed earlier rings true: the baby is perfect or as perfect as they come.

It occurs Geralt that the feeling in his chest might be happiness or something very close to it.

If only it could last.

* * *

When Jaskier’s mother comes to see her grandson, Geralt takes it as his cue to leave for a bit. It’s just that the day has been long and he’s been sitting in the same position for a long while, so his legs are thankful for the reprieve. And since his husband is in good hands, he supposes he can take the chance to take a bath and eat something. He would have thought Jaskier would be starving after a day of eating nothing, but apparently the Omega is too tired to think about food or so he had told him when Geralt had offered to bring him something.

By the time he makes his way back to the room, he finds Ciri is there too. The girl is perched over Jaskier’s shoulder, watching with rapt attention the small babe who’s now napping against Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt hesitates, unsure of what to do with himself now. A part of him wants to simply go back to his previous position, the more rational side of him is telling him that’d be pressing his luck. 

Fortunately, Jaskier looks up then and gestures for him to come back to bed with a smile. 

“Have you told Geralt the baby’s name?” Ciri questions, looking at the Witcher with a sly smile on her lips. Geralt arches an eyebrow, mildly curious, but right now too happy to have his husband back in his arms to care overly much about Ciri’s tone.

Jaskier sighs dramatically, half turning to face Geralt. “I was thinking Lovell,” he tells him calmly and Geralt’s treacherous heart decides to skip a beat, as if that was a totally normal reaction to the news.

“Bit obvious, don’t you think?” Ciri asks teasingly and Jaskier huffs, hugging the pup even closer to him, protectively.

“It’s fitting, I think,” Lady Amaryllis comes in her son’s defense. “What do you think, Geralt?” she asks gently and Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being surprised at her using his name. It’s rare for people to call him by his given name, people usually just call him _Witcher,_ either disdainfully or with a note of awe, but it always feels like a reminder of his _otherness_.

“Yes,” he agrees, because he finds his throat feels a little tight. Jaskier is looking at him, a considering expression on his face that quickly morphs into a smile after his answer.

“I told you he’d approve,” he tells Ciri petulantly, making the girl roll her eyes dramatically. Geralt smiles, nuzzling his companion’s jaw, enjoying the other’s closeness and yet longing for more.

It won’t do to become greedy, he thinks, looking down at the small bundle in Jaskier’s arms. He’s already been given enough, far much more than he ever thought he’d have. 

But he can’t stop himself from wanting.

* * *

Jaskier falls asleep after a not-entirely-successful attempt of feeding Lovell. The pup falls asleep after a lot of crying and very little actual eating, but his sleep is fitful, soft whines escaping him occasionally.

Standing next to the crib, Geralt keeps guard.

From his new position, he can not see Jaskier, but he hears him well enough and he’s confident he’ll be quick to react if the Omega needs him. The baby however--

Well. Better to stay close.

His legs are protesting at all the standing after so many hours of sitting, particularly seeing he wasn’t in a very comfortable position. He ignores them with practiced ease though, he knows there are priorities in life and right now his pup’s well-being takes priority over his body’s comfort.

 _His pup_ , he thinks with a little smile. Maybe not by blood, but certainly by marriage and as long as Jaskier wants him to, he’ll be happy to be the babe’s father. He’s not entirely convinced he’ll be a good father, mind and until he came to Lettenhove and found Jaskier pregnant he hadn’t even known he wanted to be a father. He was willing to be Ciri’s guardian only because escaping destiny proved to be a fool’s errand, but now--

Well. Now things are different.

The babe whimpers, a little louder than all the times before and Geralt picks him up before he makes another sound. Blue eyes peer at him under long lashes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat. He’s so small and so fragile and--

He finds himself pressing a kiss to the top of the baby’s head without any conscious thought, taking in the milky smell of newborn pup. It’s a little different from when he was still in the womb, but similar enough. There’s a slightly flowery undertone, very similar to Jaskier’s and Geralt hums to himself, a feeling of deep satisfaction settling over him. 

This, he thinks, it’s not something he would have ever thought he would have, but now that he does--

Well. He does know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

Babies, Geralt knows in theory, sleep very little in their first months of life.

He’s totally unprepared for what little Lovell sleeps.

Of course in this particular case, his mutations play in his favour. He needs little sleep and even as tired as he is after the very draining day, he’s not dead on his feet just yet. Which is very fortunate, he thinks, because the little one clearly doesn’t care about how draining the birthing might have been, waking often and claiming for attention.

For the most part, Geralt manages on his own just fine.

His mother-in-law had raised an eyebrow and smiled amusedly earlier, when he had mentioned he wanted to learn to clean and change the babe, but after he mentioned there would be no maids to help once they were back on the road, her smile had disappeared. She’s probably doing her very best to pretend her son and grandson aren’t going to be traveling with a Witcher very soon, with little to none comforts at all and while Geralt doesn’t blame her, he sees little use on hiding from the truth.

So learned he had.

Jaskier had watched in silence, still lying on bed, too tired to do more than ask a few questions every now and then. Geralt had found the process a bit difficult, but not unmanageable and of course his newly acquired skills are tested several times on the course of the night. Funny, how quickly a newborn can dirty himself.

He hums quietly to himself, which seems to calm the baby quite a lot. If someone had asked him a couple of decades ago how he saw his future, he knows the idea of a family wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. Hell, even a couple of years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to visualize this future, nor would he have thought it was actually something he’d want. 

Destiny works in mysterious ways, he supposes.

He finds himself thinking of Yennefer then and of their last, _distracious_ conversation that had put him (them?) in this path. Destiny works in mysterious ways and it’s also cruel: it has seen fit to gift him with not one but two children now and a husband to top it off while the sorceress…

He hasn’t thought of her in a long while, he realizes. He knows now he never really loved her, nor the other way around but he wonders if it’s callous of him to have forgotten her so easily. 

There’s nothing he can do about it, of course, but he does wonder.

He looks down at the pup sleeping in his arms and sighs. He had come to Lettenhove with the intention of making things right with Jaskier and he had got more than what he originally bargained for. He does not regret it, not by far and he knows thinking about the past and the mistakes he made will do him no favours, but while the past can’t be changed, you can learn from it and it’s vital that he does. He must not make the same mistakes, he must be much more careful with his words, more aware of his and others feelings. There’s no guarantee it’ll be enough to keep this newfound peace, but it’s a start if nothing else.

He looks at Jaskier, dead to world now, snoring softly. He bites his lip softly, considering. He loves him so, has loved him for so long and he should do something about it, he knows.

The question is, what should he do?

* * *

“Did you sleep at all?” Jaskier asks, expression soft as he runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair affectionately. The Witcher had been sitting on the rocking chair next to the crib and he figures he must have fallen asleep at some point, although he has no memory of doing so. He sits up straight, stretching his back, his muscles protesting right away. There’s a crick on his neck, so he tries to relief some of the tension by moving his head side to side but it only makes it worse.

“I did,” he says, remembering Jaskier’s question and the bard arches an eyebrow, disbelieving. “I was sleeping just now, wasn’t I?” he asks, earning himself a good natured chuckle from Jaskier.

“Of course,” he agrees, leaning forward to press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “Our baby is so fortunate, to have his own guardian wolf.” Geralt huffs, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach and the way his cheek feels like it’s burning, the feeling of Jaskier’s lips lingering. “You could have woken me up, you know?”

Geralt shakes his head. “You were tired. Besides, I did wake you up to fed him, but I think you were mostly out for it.”

Jaskier hums, considering and Geralt thinks that he truly doesn’t remember. “Well, I’m sure there are a lot of sleepless nights in front of us, so I’m sure we’ll be even eventually,” the bard says finally, running his fingers through Geralt’s hair once more, the Witcher leaning into the touch. “You should lie down for a while, I’ve got this.”

Geralt wants to protest, but he’s yawning before he can utter a word, earning himself a fond chuckle from his husband. “Off to bed,” Jaskier instructs, leaning to kiss him once more. 

Geralt thinks of pulling him into an actual kiss and takes it as a sign of him really needing some sleep. These aren't’ thoughts he ought to be entertaining when he can barely see straight: if he ever gets around actually kissing Jaskier, he’ll be wide awake for it.

So he heads for the bed without another protest, plopping down with a groan that earns him some laughter and he’s out as soon as his head touches the pillow.

 _A lot of sleepless nights,_ Jaskier had said.

It doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, truth be told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I know it took me ages to update, but it was a long-ish chapter to make up for it ;) There’s only a couple of chapters left (maybe 3?) so I hope the next one won’t take as long. I’m working on my FTH’s fics though so… no promises :P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
> Oh, I almost forgot! The name! According to the baby site I consulted, Lovell is a french? name meaning "wolf cub" ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Wow! Has it really been nearly a month since I updated this? I’m so sorry! Work got crazy at some point and then I lacked a bit of inspiration for this. Which is crazy, because I had meant to write this chapter from the very beginning but alas… well.  
> The point is… here it is, finally! Again, sorry for the late update but it’s a bit longer than the previous ones so… yay?  
> Enjoy!

Ciri is playing in the courtyard, running around with a bunch of kids around her age. Geralt does his best not to smile at the sight, but it’s not easy: seeing the girl so happy and relaxed makes something inside him unfurl.

The poor girl has seen too much pain and suffering for someone so young and Geralt fears she’ll see much more soon enough. There’s a reason why he didn’t go back to Cintra to pick up his Child of Surprise before: even during peacetime, the life of a Witcher is not easy and now--

Well. He imagines now things are much more complicated.

As far as he knows though, war has not touched much of the Continent just yet. Whatever happened at Sodden made Nilfgaard retreat, although he imagines it’s by no means a long term arrangement. If anything, it’s a miracle there hasn’t been any news of more attacks in the last eight months and he fears it won’t be long now before another attack happens.

He wishes they could stay a Lettenhove, truly. It’s peaceful here and _nice._ They lack nothing here: not a roof over their heads or food in their bellies. Once they get back to the road--

He looks down at the small bundle he’s holding, Lovell deeply asleep against his chest. He does not wish to take his husband and their son away from all this comfort, but--

“Your young pup is thriving,” a voice says, pulling him away from his quickly spiraling thoughts. Lady Amaryllis has an uncanny ability to slip unnoticed, which is a sharp contrast with her son: even when he’s trying, Jaskier never goes unnoticed. “She seems… happier now. Not completely at ease just yet, I think, but getting there.”

Yes, Ciri is doing better. She still has the occasional nightmare and she sometimes looks a little on edge for no particular reason, but she’s healing. He does not want to take her away from this, but--

“It’s not my wish to leave,” he tells her. “I just fear we’ll need to.”

The Viscountess smiles unamusedly. “Ah, that’s what Julian means about you reading minds.”

“I can’t read minds,” Geralt says, a tad annoyedly because that’s the sort of rumor that makes people impossibly wary of Witchers and so it’s the kind of rumor that makes him angry. “But it’s not that hard to figure out what you’re thinking.”

The woman nods, conceding the point. “I just meant to say, that you can stay as long as you want,” she says after a brief pause. “Forever more, in fact. After all, what’s out there that you might possibly want?”

There’s nothing, in fact. All Geralt _wants,_ all Geralt _cares for,_ is here. And yet-- “I have a duty,” he murmurs sourly, because _he does._ Witchers were created for a reason and they certainly weren’t made to play family but--

Lady Amaryllis hums. “But it’s not just you anymore, is it? Don’t you have a duty to your husband? to your children?”

Geralt makes a face. He does and as much as he wishes they could stay--

He looks in the direction of Ciri, who’s still playing with the other children, laughing merrily and easily, not a trace of fear in her face and as much as he wants to believe things can continue like this--

He knows better.

“Hmm,” he says, because there’s nothing he can say really. There are no assurances he can speak, not promises he can make and keep. His mother-in-law sighs, but doesn’t press, turning her attention to Lovell who’s beginning to stir, making soft cooing noises as he rubs his hands over his eyes.

Gods, how Geralt wishes things could be different.

But alas, some things are simply not meant to be.

* * *

If he had been asked how he pictured his future, Geralt can honestly say that not in a million years would he have imagined this. Why is that, it’s a little more complicated to answer: whether he didn’t think he wanted it or simply stopped himself from imagining it, since it was not something Witchers got, he can not tell.

Jaskier is asleep, his head resting against Geralt’s shoulder. In his arms, Lovell doesn’t sleep but is quiet after being feed, sucking on his thumb happily as he stares at his father’s sleeping face. Geralt smiles softly, his heart giving a little flutter as warmth spreads across his chest.

It’s nice, he thinks, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. He can certainly imagine the rest of his life playing like this: with his mate and their pup by his side. He’s not entirely sure of the rest of the picture though: if they’ll settle down somewhere or if they’ll continue to travel… well, he’s not sure.

He told Jaskier once that Witchers don’t retire, they simply get old and slow and get killed. He never dared to imagine another future for him, he told himself he was… well, not happy with that, but _resigned._ But now that he can see another possibility, now that he knows the future might held something different--

Well. He does want that.

Lovell makes a soft curious sound, having found one of the many fancy laces of his father’s chemise, pulling at it before shoving it in his mouth. Geralt chuckles, amused and considers whether or not he should stop him. At six months old, the babe is growing more curious with each passing day, eager to explore whatever he can get his small hands on. He makes a soft cooing sound, apparently pleased with his discovery, a small smile on his lips and Geralt feels like he’s positively melting.

He once told Yennefer that making people like them sterile, was a kindness of their makers, but now he understands that’s not true. The road might not be the best place for a babe, but they certainly bring a form of joy that he never felt before. He understands the woman’s motives a little better now, he thinks: he certainly sees the appeal of loving someone so unconditionally and being loved back just as strongly.

He still doesn’t quite understand her obsession with getting pregnant herself. He does not particularly care about Lovell’s parentage: he loves him as if he was his own. The fact that Jaskier is the father probably helps, but he thinks of Ciri and the deep affection he’s grown to feel for the girl over their short acquaintance and he supposes that’s how fatherhood really works: blood matters little in these cases.

“Some fine guard you are,” Jaskier murmurs sleepily, rearranging himself so he’s sitting up a bit more straight. “You didn’t even try to stop our son from eating my clothes.”

Geralt hums. “I don’t see the harm,” he replies. “No great loss there.”

Jaskier glares, but the effect is a bit diminished by how sleepy he still is. Geralt smiles, soft and fond and he has to resist the urge to lean forward to press a kiss to his companion’s lips: it’s getting harder and harder to resist such urge, but he thinks he’s doing rather decently.

As usual though, Jaskier doesn’t seem to have any qualms about showing affection, leaning forward to kiss Geralt’s cheek. It’s an innocent gesture, one that certainly shouldn’t leave Geralt breathless, but it does leave him breathless all the same. His husband doesn’t seem to notice though, simply slipping out of the bed, playfully chidding Lovell for attempting to eat his chemise.

Geralt watches him in silence, his already slow heartbeat now practically non existent and something settles heavily in his gut. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, but it’s not a nice one either.

He’s threading on thin ice, he knows. He’s been threading on far too thin ice ever since he agreed to this ruse and _it’s killing him_. He needs-- he should--

He hears Jaskier laugh and looks up at him, to find Lovell squeezing his nose curiously as the Omega chuckles merrily and every other thought fades into the background of his mind.

There are more pressing things to attend to, after all.

* * *

Ciri spends most of her time with the other children around her age, but she does occasionally drop to visit her _honorary brother._ She was a little disappointed at first, seeing babies don’t do much when they’re very young, although she tried her best not to let it show. Geralt imagines babies are impossibly boring for someone of Ciri’s age, only getting more interesting as they grow older and start doing more things. Now Lovell _plays_ with her, tugging at the laces of her dress or at her hair, grabbing her nose and chewing on her fingers if she puts them too close to his mouth. Ciri giggles whenever that happens, before tickling him softly with her free hand until the pup is laughing too and rescinds his hold on her hand.

It’s-- pleasant, truly. _Domestic_. Odd too, if he must be honest with himself, unused as he is to witnessing all these scenes. Even now, his reputation mostly restored, people are wary of letting him too close and he does not imagine there are many who would trust him with their children, but--

The bedroom door opens, Jaskier strolling in with a bright smile on his face. He’s sweaty, which is unsurprising considering it’s late summer and the tavern he usually performs at is generally packed. He smiles at Ciri, leaving his lute a little carelessly next to the door as he rushes to pick up Lovell, twirling around slowly, making the pup laugh some more.

Geralt smiles and hurries to hide it by busying himself with tidying up after his husband. Jaskier has abandoned his lute and also his shoes and Geralt sets them straight, half listening to the conversation between Jaskier and Ciri. It’s not common, Geralt imagines, for a Lord to spend his afternoons at the local tavern playing and singing like a regular bard, but he also understands that despite his birth right, Jaskier is at his core an artist: if pressed to pick only one thing to be, he has no doubt what the other man would chose.

Jaskier is singing now, sharing some new lively tune with Ciri, holding Lovell on one arm and the other grabbing the girl’s hand as he guides her through some complicated footwork. Ciri is laughing once more, missing most of the steps and twirling around more than necessary, happy and relaxed.

Jaskier catches him looking and Geralt does his best to keep his expression neutral, despite the way his heart is fluttering inside his chest. His husband smiles at him, gesturing for him to join their impromptu dance and Geralt shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Jaskier huffs, amused and turns his attention back to the children, not missing one beat during the whole exchange.

Geralt rubs his chest absentmindedly, distracted. He feels both warm and cold, thinking that life has turned a hundred times better than he ever expected it to.

And yet he can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. _Happiness_ doesn’t last, at least not for him but--

Oh, what he would give if just this once he was proven wrong.

* * *

 _Before,_ Geralt’s life had been filled with silence. _After,_ silence became a rare commodity. He’s sure Jaskier doesn’t mean it half of the time, but he’s _loud._ He does not know how to keep quiet, constantly talking to himself, or singing or humming at the very least. Geralt is certain he didn’t mean to half of the time, particularly when Geralt had been very clear on the fact that he needed silence, but Jaskier seemed completely incapable of helping himself.

And Geralt-- well, Geralt had been talkative when he was young, he remembers. He was often curious about things, asking far too many questions. But later he had learned to value silence, being very quiet the key to a successful hunt most of the time. And much later, with people constantly scared of him, avoiding him whenever possible, he made his peace with the silent life he lived.

The change had been jarring at first and very welcome afterwards. It did distract him and from time to time it proved dangerous, but against everything he ever told Jaskier on the matter, he wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

He still wouldn’t, truth be told.

“--brooding, as usual,” Jaskier is saying, talking to Lovell who’s a slightly better interlocutor than Geralt ever was. “It’s the way he’s always been, I don’t know why I still find it surprising,” he continues, never having had trouble carrying a conversation by himself, Lovell chewing his own fist distractedly. “That’s the first thing I told him, I remember-- _I love how you brood.”_

“That’s not what you said,” Geralt protests and Jaskier turns to look at him.

“Ah, so you were listening,” he says with a teasing smile. “And what did I say, according to you?”

“ _I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,_ ” Geralt replies obligingly, earning himself a raised eyebrow. “Did you really not know who I was?” he asks, because he’s always been curious if Jaskier’s self preservation instinct simply doesn’t exist or if he’s really that unobserving.

Jaskier smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, turning his attention back to Lovell and Geralt huffs. “I didn’t see the swords till I approached you,” he confesses softly. “I was too busy trying not to drool.”

Geralt huffs once more. “Be serious.”

Jaskier smiles, a sad little thing. “Get me the towel, will you? I’m nearly done.” 

Geralt does so without protesting, not really wanting to dwell too much on the memories of their first meeting. It changed his life in definite ways; it’s not in vain that Geralt thinks of his life as neatly divided in two parts: before and after Jaskier.

It’s curious, really. Once upon a time he had thought the defining moment of his life had been Blaviken and he can only be glad _it wasn’t._ The mess in Blaviken changed how he viewed himself and drove home the idea that the world would only ever see him as a monster, but then Jaskier had swept in and changed all that once more. _He’s thankful for it,_ honestly and even if Jaskier hadn’t stayed at his side all these years, his simple trust, his single headed determination to change his reputation would have been enough.

Or maybe not, he thinks as Jaskier passes Lovell onto him. The babe giggles, reaching for Geralt’s hair and the Witcher lets him pull at the white strands, smiling a little at the baby’s deeply concentrated expression. Jaskier snorts, amused and goes to busy himself with Lovell’s night clothes.

“I’m going to miss this,” Jaskier murmurs, as he slips the nightgown over Lovell’s head. “The baths, I mean. You and I-- well, it’s not ideal to go unwashed for so many days and we can always make a quick stop at a river but a baby…” he trails off, running his fingers through Lovell’s short blond hair. 

Geralt hums, uncertain of what he can say. There’s no reassurance he can speak, not truly. “I don’t-- I wish we could stay,” he settles for finally, meeting Jaskier’s eyes over Lovell’s head.

“I know,” Jaskier whispers, a small smile on his lips. “But alas, that’s not the life of a Witcher. And I knew that before marrying you, so really, I only have myself to blame if I don’t like it.”

Geralt frowns. “If you wanted to stay--” he doesn’t really want to finish the thought, but he guesses he owes Jaskier the choice if nothing else. The idea sits ill with him for various reasons, but--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jaskier interrupts, perhaps a tad annoyed. “This is the life I was born into, not the one I choose. Do you truly imagine I couldn’t have settled down before if I so wished? If not come back here, I could have stayed with some rich lover, I could have established myself in some big city.” He shakes his head, expression slightly downcast. “But every time-- I went back to you, Geralt. Over and over again, I choose to be with you. Or do you imagine all our reunions were mere coincidence?”

Geralt frowns, considering. “You-- you were looking for me? All those times?”

Jaskier huffs. “Oh, you’re so thick sometimes,” he murmurs, picking up Lovell once more. “Can you believe your father, pup? I have to spell everything out for him. Why, I remember--”

He leaves the bathing room still talking quietly to their son, although he’s mostly talking to himself, Geralt thinks. The Witcher doesn’t follow, or at least not right away, still turning the idea inside his head. People don’t _chose_ to be with him: he tied Ciri to him by an imprudent request, he tied Yennefer to him by a foolish and desperate wish. Jaskier however--

He does not know what that means. Furthermore, he’s not sure he wants to know.

He’s not sure what he’d do with that knowledge.

* * *

“That one isn’t mine,” Jaskier says, resting his head on top of Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt, who hadn’t noticed his companion was awake, startles a little, but years of training stop him from dropping the precious bundle he’s holding. “Oh, hush,” Jaskier murmurs, his breath warm against Geralt’s ear. “I knew you wouldn’t drop him, even in the unlikely event that I did surprise you.”

Geralt huffs, continuing to rock Lovell lightly. He’s asleep now, but as usual he’s a little reluctant to relinquish his hold on him. Jaskier snorts, rubbing his chin against Geralt’s shoulder affectionately. “It figures you’d sing him a lullaby about _horses_ of all things.”

“I like horses,” Geralt defends playfully, although he thinks only Jaskier would know he’s teasing, earning himself a light chuckle that warms him inside. Jaskier’s arms wrap themselves around Geralt’s middle, affectionate but not demanding and Geralt finds himself relaxing into the embrace, leaning back a little.

“‘Course,” Jaskier replies. “You have no idea how jealous of Roach I am.”

Geralt hums, hiding his smile by half turning away. He knows there’s no real need for that, he knows that if anything, seeing him smile makes Jaskier beam, but old habits die hard. “My mother used to sing it to me,” he confesses softly and he feels more than hears Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath. He rarely ever volunteers information of his past and he’s never before actually mentioned his mother, so he’s not surprised by the reaction, although he does wonder what prompted the confession. “What, did you think I sprout out from earth, a fully formed Witcher?”

“More or less,” Jaskier replies, although his tone suggests he’s not in fact being serious. “No, I just-- I guess I never really considered-- I thought you had lost them early on.” 

Geralt shrugs. It’s not something he really wants to discuss, but-- “My mother left me to become a Witcher,” he replies simply, which is a bit of an oversimplification. “I never saw her again.”

Jaskier doesn’t answer, just fitting his chin a bit more snuggly against Geralt’s shoulder, the arms around him tightening their hold a little. Geralt looks down at Lovell, still deeply asleep and he sighs, before moving away from Jaskier’s embrace to get him back to his crib.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, once he’s done. “I told you this before, but it bears repeating: I’m not leaving you.” Geralt turns, coming face to face with his companion. “Not unless you chase me out again, of course, which--” he says the last part so sadly, full of self depreciation and Geralt growls, stepping closer to him.

“All that shit I said,” he tells him, deadly serious, grabbing him by the arms. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know. We talked about it and I know--”

“When I went back to the camp,” he starts, not entirely sure how to voice this, but knowing he must make some effort. Jaskier has chosen to stay with him over and over again and he owes him this at least. “It was so quiet. I could hear every little sound around me and I-- _I hated it._ I hated it so much.”

Jaskier is watching him in silence, a small smile on his lips. “So you did miss me.”

Geralt snorts. “Of course I did.” He realizes he’s still holding Jaskier by the arms and he thinks he should let him go, but he finds he really doesn’t want to, not anymore.

“Geralt?” Jaskier questions softly when he steps closer. He doesn’t smell even remotely afraid, although his voice does have an odd timber. He’s holding himself very still and there’s something in his eyes that Geralt has no idea how to interpret. “Geralt, if you don’t want me to do something we’ll both regret, I need you to step away.” He sounds-- breathless and Geralt steps even closer, the space between them practically non existent now.

“And why is that?” he asks softly, tilting his head a bit. He forgets how tall Jaskier truly is, almost his same height actually and yet he’s always seemed so much more delicate. _Breakable._

“I told you before this marriage would only be such in name,” Jaskier replies, eyes fixed on Geralt’s lips now. “I-- I wanted-- if you-- what I mean to say is--” He groans, frustrated, resting his forehead against Geralt’s chest. “I’ve made mistakes before. I’ve read the signs wrong before and Geralt, I need you to--”

“Can I kiss you?”

Jaskier makes a curious sound, as if he’s dying and Geralt frowns but before he can ask what that means, the other man has surged forward and is kissing him with desperation. “ _Fuck,_ ” Jaskier murmurs softly against his lips. “I thought-- I wasn’t reading it wrong this time,” he says, before giggling, perhaps a tad hysterically, his hands fisting the front of Geralt’s nightgown. “Good, that’s-- good.”

“So you talk even when you’re kissing,” Geralt says. “Good to know.”

Jaskier snorts, laughing into Geralt’s shoulder, his body shaking in his effort to be as quiet as possible. “You’re impossible,” he says, pulling away a little so he can stare at Geralt in the eye. “If you don’t want me to talk so much, maybe you ought to be trying to find ways to keep me otherwise occupied, _husband._ ”

Geralt growls, practically tackling the other man to the bed, earning himself an startled yelp. Jaskier chuckles and Geralt shushes him and they both smile against each other’s lips, grinning like fools.

In his crib, Lovell sleeps, unaware of his parents’ antics.

All for the best, really.

* * *

Babies, generally speaking, have a tendency to wake up at the break of dawn.

Geralt doesn’t mind, generally. He’s never been a heavy sleeper and so he has no trouble getting up in the early morning to see to the baby’s needs. Usually, he changes Lovell’s diaper and takes him for a little stroll around the gardens, so he might let Jaskier sleep a little longer.

Today however, Geralt does not in fact want to leave the little cocoon of warmth the bed is. Jaskier is half lying on top of him, exactly as he fell asleep last night after finally consummating their marriage. Geralt smiles fondly at the memory, pressing a kiss to his husband’s forehead that has Jaskier purring contently like an oversized cat.

He’s tempted to close his eyes once more and drift to sleep, but Lovell makes another protesting sound that signals he’ll be very displeased if Geralt doesn’t get up _right now_ and so he finally does.

“Fine, fine,” he murmurs, picking up the babe. “I’ve got you, don’t wake up your father.”

Lovell naturally doesn’t answer, but seems pleased enough with the attention, not making another sound as Geralt changes him, only chirping happily when Geralt wraps him in a heavy blanket before exiting the room.

Time for their morning stroll.

* * *

This early in the morning, there aren’t many servants milling around. The few that are, have long ago got used to Geralt’s strolls and so they don’t bother him, allowing him some peace and quiet. Unlike Jaskier, he does not feel the urge to talk to Lovell all the time and while the baby seems to like listening to his father, he seems to have no trouble with Geralt’s quiet demeanor.

The gardens are ample and well looked after and so it’s nice to take a walk around them. The fall is just starting, so a lot of leaves from the trees are starting to fall, adding to the path’s charm. It’s not cold yet, but Geralt wraps the little blanket a bit tighter around Lovell’s body; one can never be too careful, after all.

He’s distracted, his mind going back to last night over and over again. If he’s honest with himself, he had imagined being with Jaskier plenty of times, but even his wildest fantasies have nothing on the real thing. It had been passionate, but not desperate. Geralt is not really used to _love making,_ having scoffed at the concept often enough in the past. In his opinion, _sex was sex_ and all that emotional nonsense was a bunch of shit. Even that last night with Yennefer, _gentle_ as their coupling had been, it hadn’t feel much different from what he was used to, not at its core.

Last night however-- well, he’s been proven wrong, certainly. _There is a difference._

He scrunches his nose. Love is making him a sap, apparently and he’s not sure he likes it. He’s not sure he wants to admit he’s in love to start with, although he imagines Jaskier knows. Still, he ought to tell him, he thinks, at some point at the very least and--

He feels the pull of magic, pulling him away from his thoughts. He turns around just in time to see the portal forming and he reaches for his sword, adopting a fighting stance before realizing he does not in fact have his swords with him. He curses softly, holding Lovell a little closer to him, figuring there’s nothing he can do now.

A figure steps through the portal, a heavy cloak covering them, a hood over their head. Geralt tries not to roll his eyes at the threatically of it all, having recognized the scent of their new visitor.

“Yennefer,” he greets, as the portal closes. “Long time no see.”

“Geralt,” the sorceress replies, pushing her hood off. She’s watching him closely but then her eyes drop to the buddle in Geralt’s arms and her expression softens as she steps closer. “Is that--?”

Geralt steps back without thinking, instics on overdrive. Generally speaking, he trusts Yennefer but he’s also aware she’s a very powerful sorceress and this is his pup and he must protect him.

Yennefer steps back too, a hurt expression flitting across her face before she quickly smooths down her expression. “I guess the rumors are true,” she says, tone icily cold. “The White Wolf has been tamed.”

Geralt scoffs. “What are you doing here, Yennefer? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Did you think or did you hope?” the sorceress counters, but she must see something reflected in Geralt’s face, because she quickly softens her expression. She sighs, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “I just-- I heard the rumors and I needed to see it for myself,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes. “After everything you told me-- bit hypocrite, don’t you think?”

Yes, Geralt is aware. But also-- “I was mistaken,” he admits softly, looking down at his son. “I didn’t understand and I behaved rather poorly towards you. I might have been projecting a little too,” he says, his lips turning downwards. In his experience, sorceress do not make good mothers, but that’s probably unfair on Yennefer. Maybe also unfair on his mother, who must have had her reasons to do what she did.

Yennefer seems to consider this, a calculating expression on her face, before she nods once, tightly. “I’m-- _happy_ for you, I guess. I won’t deny it’s all I ever wanted and once upon a time I thought we would get it together but alas-- we’ve both seen that was never meant to be.”

Geralt’s heart constricts painfully in his chest. He still feels _a lot_ for Yennefer, he cannot deny that, but now he knows he does not love her, not like that anyway. “I hope you’ll find happiness of your own one day,” he says, because it’s the best he can offer right now.

Yennefer chuckles, but it lacks any real humor. “Perhaps,” she says with a shrug. “While I was laying low, I did some research. I think the djinn’s magic can be undone and once I figure it out, we’ll break the bond.”

Geralt nods, knowing that’s the right thing to do, even if he has the slight suspicion his and Yennefer’s destinies will remain entangled. Not in the way he once thought, but in some manner.

They stay in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. “Were you in Sodden?” Geralt asks suddenly, remembering her off handed comment about laying low. He had assumed as much, but he hadn’t given it much thought, caught up in everything else that was going on in his life.

“Yes,” Yennefer replies, a dark shadow crossing her face. “In fact-- well, I did want to see if the rumors were true, but also… Nilfgaard is on the move once more.”

 _Shit._ He knew the peace was unlikely to last, but he had hoped-- “I’m here to help,” Yennefer tells him, earnest, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm gently. “I know the Cintra’s princess is with you and I--” she closes her eyes, biting her lip. “I can help.”

Yes, he knows she can. And given the circumstances, he also knows they’re going to need all the help they can get.

Besides, Yennefer is kind of a friend, even if their relationship has been full of ups and downs.

Geralt sighs. “Do you want to hold him?” he offers, seeing the way the sorceress’ eyes keep dropping to the baby. Yennefer’s face brightens up immediately and Geralt sighs, passing Lovell to her. The baby makes a soft protesting sound, upset at being handed to an stranger, but quickly gets hold of Yennefer’s fancy shinny necklace and seems to decide he likes her.

Geralt watches them in silence for a beat, distractedly thinking of his next move. They need to leave Lettenhove, that’s obvious enough but other than that-- he’s at lost of what to do next. He needs to take his little family somewhere safe and yet he knows no place is truly safe while Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri.

What a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> The conversation between Geralt and Yennefer was meant to be a little more dramatic, the chapter ending when she steps through the portal but then I was like-- do we really need the drama? Can they just talk out their issues and call it a day? So I went that route. Not sure if it works, but I kinda like it :P
> 
> Also, I wonder if their build up for Geralt and Jaskier’s   
> _  
> confession  
> _  
>  really works. Does it feel a bit abrupt to you guys too?
> 
> Anyway, there’s just one more chapter to go, I think. There’ll be a little drama, because Jaskier and Geralt might have done the do, but they certainly haven’t talked enough and with Yennefer around jealousy is bound to rear its head so… but I do think I just need another chapter to tackle that down ;)
> 
> Also, while I was   
> _  
> not  
> _  
>  writing this fic, I worked on my two FTH’s works, which you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397955) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470390/chapters/56268253) if you’re interested and looking for something else to read ;) There’s also this other [WIP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834498/chapters/54572932), because I have too many ideas for this ship, apparently :P
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
>   
>   
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter!  
> I’m sorry for the long wait, I was a bit unsure of how I wanted this chapter to go and while I’m happy with it, it took me a while to figure it out :P  
> Anyway, without further ago, enjoy!

Jaskier wakes up feeling warm and content.

He continues lying on the bed for a little while, not particularly concerned about the reason of the contentment he feels, happy to bask in the feeling all the same. It’s somewhat late, he thinks, judging by the sunrays coming through the window, but he’s always been a late sleeper, except for the times when he’s on the road with Geralt, the Witcher always wanting to leave before dawn.

And speaking of Geralt--

Jaskier grins, his heart threatening to burst with happiness now that the memories of last night are starting to come back. He must admit it hadn’t been quite as he had always pictured and he had imagined it plenty of times, in all of sorts of scenarios and yet all his fantasies pale in the light of the real thing.

He presses the tip of his fingers against his mouth, remembering Geralt’s over his. It had been sweet, mostly, Geralt being impossibly careful with him, as if afraid he’d break, which had been good for the first part, but Jaskier has never been a patient man when it comes to sex and so of course eventually he had to take the reins of their encounter.

It was over way to soon, leaving Jaskier wishing he wasn’t so damn tired nowadays. He adores Lovell, obviously, but looking after a pup is a lot of work, even with all of Geralt’s and the servants’ help and so he’s a little embarrassed of how quickly he had tired. He had heard rumors of Witchers’ stamina and he had been wanting to find out if the rumors were in fact true, but he had fallen asleep shortly after round one, not to wake up until a few minutes ago.

Well, it’s no matter, he supposes. There’ll be plenty of time in the future: last night was just the beginning.

He does remember Geralt’s arm wrapped around him afterwards, pulling him close to sleep. Not an uncommon occurrence nowadays of course, but no less charming for it. He wishes he had got to wake up in the same manner, but he does know Geralt enjoys his routine and so he knows he must be on his morning walk around the gardens with Lovell.

 _There’ll be time,_ Jaskier tells himself, stretching our languorously. 

They have the rest of their lives, after all.

* * *

Jaskier considers the merits of taking a bath before breakfast, well aware he stinks of last night’s activities and promptly decides against it. He’s a married man after all, just because before today he had never smelt of his Alpha’s and his own pleasure, it doesn’t make it scandalous.

Besides, Jaskier is not one to care about what other people might think.

He strolls into the dinning room, still grinning, his insides bubbling with happiness only for things to come crashing down around him quite quickly the minute he catches glimpse of a woman sitting in front of Geralt.

And just like that, all of Jaskier’s previous happiness and self assurance vanishes.

When Geralt came looking for him, Jaskier hadn’t even dared to bring up the subject of Yennefer, which, considering how things had turned out for him the last time he had tried to comfort the Witcher over his lost lover, he thinks was perfectly logical. Still, he realizes it was a bit of an oversight: he probably should have discussed with Geralt his relationship with Yennefer before any of this (the marriage, the claiming Lovell as his, the sex) came to pass.

Well. It’s too late for regrets now, isn’t it?

So he forces himself to make his way towards his usual seat, ignoring the ball of lead sitting in his stomach. Yennefer looks perfectly well put together as usual, her dark dress perfectly showcasing her curves, her hair perfectly groomed. Jaskier isn’t insecure by nature, not really, he knows himself attractive and there’s plenty of evidence to back that up but he dares anyone not to feel a tiny bit insecure of their looks when standing in front of perfection incarnate, specially looking as sleep ruffled as he still does.

“Yennefer,” he greets politely, proud of the steadiness of his voice. “What a nice surprise.”

“Jaskier,” she replies in kind, tilting her head in greeting. This close she looks a bit tired, dark circles underneath her eyes, but they do nothing to decrease her beauty. “I heard congratulations are in order,” Yennefer says with a smile that looks a tiny bit forced, but that lacks any mockery or cruelty. Jaskier knows she's not trying to be mean, he knows she's not saying _he might have married you but he's still mine; will always be mine_ but that's what he hears all the same. It's the truth, after all and Jaskier might enjoy the little fantasy of his relationship with Geralt that he’s built inside his head over the years, but he also knows there's no escaping the truth and there's little use on denying what's evident.

"Thank you," he replies, with his best polite faked smile. Yennefer frowns a little, no doubt picking on his tone, but doesn't ask. Next to him, Geralt is frowning, but Jaskier knows he won’t say a thing and that’s for the best really.

He startles a little when Geralt places a hand over his over the table and he looks in his husband’s direction, his heart constricting in his chest. Geralt doesn’t mean to be cruel, he knows, but Jaskier feels on edge and the gentle touch is far from reassuring: if anything, it feels like a reminder of all he stands to lose.

The worst part is that he can’t even hate Yennefer for it and certainly not Geralt. After all, he’s the one who got in between their relationship: it’s his own damn fault--

Geralt squeezes his hand and Jaskier looks up at him once more. His husband is staring at him with a puzzled expression on his face, seemingly troubled. He can probably smell Jaskier’s distress and he’s confused about the source of it. Jaskier feels like screaming, because of course Geralt is oblivious, but forces himself to smile, unwilling to make a scene in the dining room, in front of his mother and Ciri.

It’s fine, he tells himself, turning his attention to Lovell who’s demanding he picks him up. _It’ll be fine_ , he repeats to himself; he survived Geralt choosing Yennefer over him once, he’ll survive it again.

He ignores the little voice in the back of his head informing him the stakes weren’t quite so high last time.

He’ll be fine.

* * *

Jaskier escapes breakfast as soon as he can, claiming he’s in urgent need of a bath (which, to be fair, is sort of true). His mother takes Lovell from him, saying she hasn’t got to spend that much time with her grandson, although Jaskier suspects there’s something else hidden in her request, considering the look she throws in Geralt’s direction. Jaskier is in no mood to puzzle over it though, happy to leave without further interaction.

Yennefer had been nice to him during breakfast, quite the odd occurrence. They used to bicker, before and for the most part, Jaskier thought of it as _friendly bickering_ . He’s always been jealous of the sorceress, of how quickly she got past Geralt’s defenses when it had taken Jaskier so many years. But he can admit she’s _likeable,_ charming and witty and so very clever. Jaskier can see why so many people have fallen in love with her over the years and he does not blame Geralt for falling prey of her many charms, but--

Of course today he hadn’t really been in the mood for bickering, his heart too fragile after realizing that he’s losing Geralt _again_ and Yennefer must have noticed it, considering she stopped herself from ribbing him in any way. Jaskier is pathetically thankful of her understanding, even if he hates how easily she’s read him: she’s always known of his love for Geralt, of course and she always sort of pitied him for it, but Jaskier had been perfectly content with ignoring it. Now though--

He becomes aware of someone following him a few seconds later and he’s half tempted to turn around and tell Geralt under no uncertain terms that he does not want to speak to him _now._ He’ll have to, he knows, but _later,_ once he has managed to get his emotions under control.

He doesn’t though, letting the other man follow after him as he makes his way towards their bedroom to grab a change of clothes. He realizes his mistake the minute he steps into the room, the scent and the evidence of their activities from last night feeling like a slap to the face. He takes a deep breath, which is a mistake of course and he wills himself not to break down crying.

“You’re upset,” Geralt states, closing the door softly after him, but not approaching Jaskier. Giving him space, which under other circumstances would probably be appropriate but right now it just feels like another reminder of what it’s to come.

“Brilliant deduction, Geralt. Truly,” Jaskier replies sarcastically, sitting down on the bed, his knees feeling all wobbly. He rubs his temples tiredly, focusing on the headache he can feel coming, rather than the way his heart is breaking once again.

Geralt doesn’t answer, just watching him in silence, a mighty frown on his face. Jaskier doesn’t dare to explain, afraid his voice will fail him if he attempts to and truly, it shouldn’t be that difficult to figure it out. Except he’s well aware of Geralt’s inability to properly communicate, so maybe--

“Are you… is this about last night?” Geralt asks softly, taking a step towards him but seemingly thinking better of it, keeping his ground instead.

Jaskier sighs, looking upwards. He’ll have to explain, won’t he? “No, it’s-- well, it’s that, in part, but only because… well. Now that I know what I’m missing, I might find it harder to pretend I don’t care and of course now I’m even more envious of Yennefer, but that’s not here nor there--”

“I don’t understand,” Geralt interrupts. “What does Yennefer have to do with what’s happened between us?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, willing himself to keep his calm. “She has everything to do, of course. Because now that she’s here-- I mean, I understand that I-- We should probably--” he groans, frustrated. “I shouldn’t have married you,” he says finally.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Geralt’s expression although it makes little sense. The Witcher looks as if someone has just stabbed him, but he quickly composes his expression, looking away, his jaw set.

“I see,” Geralt murmurs softly, not looking at him, every word dripping with barely contained hurt. “It’s a little late for that.”

“Oh, fuck you Geralt,” Jaskier snaps, annoyed despite himself. “You don’t get to act like you’re the one who’s hurt.” He groans, shaking his head. They’re going the wrong way about this. “I didn’t mean-- I just-- I understand you and Yennefer are bound together,” she says, clenching his jaw. “And I don’t-- I shouldn’t have got in the way of that. And I wish I had thought this crazy plan through, before agreeing to--” He shakes his head once more, frustrated at not finding the right words. “It’s a mess, alright? And it’s not your fault, certainly but I feel-- I’m just having trouble dealing with it, alright?” he finishes a bit lamely, feeling tired more than anything else. 

For a while Geralt doesn’t move and then he goes to kneel next to Jaskier, a mighty frown on his face. “I think… I don’t think we’re understanding one another,” he says softly, grabbing Jaskier’s hands in his. “Do you regret anything that has happened between us?”

Jaskier scoffs. “Not as such, no. But you and Yennefer--”

“Have talked,” Geralt interrupts. “Anything that ever was between us is over now. It wasn’t-- it’s not like this.” He squeezes Jaskier’s hands to emphasize his point. “Jaskier, I-- You know I’m not good with words. But last night-- I thought you understood.”

Jaskier had thought that too, but this morning--

Except-- well, Geralt didn’t say or do anything that suggested that he was going to leave Jaskier. No, that was only his own insecurities rearing their ugly heads and while Jaskier thinks they’re understandable…

The truth is that Geralt has given no indication that he regrets all this.

“Oh,” he murmurs softly, whipping away the tears that had already begun falling. “I guess… I guess I got carried away.” He lets out an humorless chuckle. “I-- do you-- does this mean you’re not leaving?”

Geralt pursues his lips, unhappy and Jaskier’s stomach drops. “I don’t-- I wish we didn’t have to leave. But Yennefer says Nilfgaard is on the move once more and I need to take Ciri somewhere safe.”

Oh, well, that makes sense but-- “But you’re not-- I mean-- we’re coming with you, aren’t we?”

Geralt stares at him for a beat, before nodding resolutely. “I wish there was another way, but you won’t be safe here, Jaskier.” He presses a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles and the Omega feels like swooning. “It won’t be comfortable, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.”

Yes, Jaskier is definitely swooning. “That’s fine,” Jaskier replies, still processing all that’s happened so far. “I don’t mind traveling, as long as we’re together.”

Geralt’s lips curve into the smallest of smiles and Jaskier’s heart swells. He feels so silly for his earlier reaction, he should have known Geralt wouldn’t be as callous as to just be with him while waiting for Yennefer to show up. For the past eight months or so he’s proved himself a good mate and a good father and Jaskier should have known better than to doubt his affection.

That’s a mistake he’s not making again, of course.

* * *

“I think I’ll miss this the most,” Jaskier says, leaning back against Geralt’s chest while relaxing on the tub. “Most inns don’t have tubs big enough for two.”

Geralt hums, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, thinking. He’s reluctant to tear his husband from his comfortable life, but he’s also aware there’s no other choice. “You can’t stay here,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. “It’s not safe.”

“Oh, I know,” Jaskier argues with a wave of his hand. “And I wouldn’t want to, in any case, not without you.” He half turns to face him, a little smile on his lips. “I think I’ve said it before, but just in case: I’d follow you to the edge of the world and back.”

Geralt hums, his heart swelling with affection. “You have a child to think of.”

“ _We_ have two pups to think of,” Jaskier counters calmly. “And as a long as Nilfgaard remains a threat, they both are at risk. Do not think I don’t know what I got myself into, Geralt,” the bard protests, facing forward once more. “Do I wish they didn’t have to live with us in the run? Of course, but given the circumstances… I know you’ll do your best to keep us safe.”

Geralt hums, knowing that’s the best he can promise. He too wishes things were different, but-- “Maybe someday,” he murmurs softly. “We could always try heading to the coast one of these days.”

Jaskier hums too, leaning a little more comfortably against him. “We’ll be fine,” Jaskier whispers, taking one of Geralt’s hands and kissing the back of it. “Come what may, we’ll face it together.”

 _Yes,_ Geralt thinks.

It’s not ideal, but it’s what they have.

* * *

“Well, what’s the plan?” Jaskier asks, dropping himself on Geralt’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Geralt smiles at him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head and Yennefer rolls her eyes dramatically, but doesn’t comment.

For the last hour or so he’s been talking to Yennefer, trying to figure out their next move. The sorceress is well informed on the Nilfgaardians movements, but even with all her intel, finding a route that will get them far away from their army is proving tricky.

“We’ll be heading for Kaer Morhen,” Geralt informs him, rubbing Jaskier’s back in a soothing manner, although he has no idea who he’s trying to soothe. “It’s-- it’s the safest place I can think of.”

Jaskier hums, examining the map spread over the table, frowning at the many figures representing the Nilfgaardian army. “They’ve been busy, haven’t they?” he comments and Geralt huffs. He had known that all the peace and quiet was a bit suspicious, but it hadn’t occurred him that Nilfgaard had switched tactics and rather than fighting great battles over territories, they had gone for a much subtler strategy.

“The good news is that they haven’t quite taken over most of Redania, but they’re moving fast and steadily,” Yennefer says. “They’ll arrive at Lettenhove in less than a couple of weeks.”

Geralt bites his lip. He does not like the idea of leaving his husband’s home unprotected: he knows Nilfgaard isn’t known for their mercy and given their connection… he’s worried about what might happen.

His first and foremost concern however, is his family and he needs to get them to safety as soon as possible.

“Do you really think it’ll be safe at Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier asks, turning his attention to him. “You always gave me the impression that outsiders weren’t welcome there.”

In all truth, Geralt isn’t quite sure. For as long as he’s lived, Kaer Morhen hasn’t welcome anyone who wasn’t a Witcher, but in all fairness no human has ever asked to be allowed in. He’s not sure what Vesemir will have to say when he shows up with his little family, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there: if nothing else, he’s sure his old mentor will let them stay until they figure out a better plan.

“It’s our best chance,” he replies, looking in Yennefer’s direction. “You say you can’t portal us there?”

Yennefer frowns, considering. “Not all the way there,” she says finally. “The battle at Sodden weaken me and while I can do some magic… portals require a lot of strength. I’m not sure how long I’d be able to hold it open and if we ran into trouble… I’d be no help at all.”

Geralt scowls, unhappy. It’s better if they don’t waste Yennefer’s magic, although he’s fairly certain they’ll need her to portal them somewhere at some point. For the time being however, they need to figure out a decently safe route that gets them as close as possible to Kaer Morhen.

He feels Jaskier’s fingers on his shoulders, rubbing gentle circles over them. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to release some of the tension he’s carrying. Nothing will be gain by panicking and he just needs to think this through.

He’ll figure out something.

He has to.

* * *

Geralt sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. The map is still spread across him and while he now has a working plan, he’s not completely satisfied with it. There are many variables to consider, too many things out of his control that could go wrong and--

He sighs again. There’s no use of torturing himself like this: they need to go and this is the best plan they’ve got.

He thinks of Ciri, of her downcast expression when he explained to her that Nilfgaard was on the move once more. She hadn’t been scared, not precisely, just… sad, he thinks. It’s understandable, of course: she has found some amount of peace and happiness here and to take her away from it…

He wishes things could be different, but he knows how tricky wishes can be.

On the plus side, Ciri had seemed quite excited at finally meeting Yennefer and she’s looking forward to getting some actual magical training. 

Jaskier has already packed their things and asked a maid for some other essentials to be packed too. Geralt is even more at odds with the idea of traveling with Lovell, but he also knows there’s no choice. He had known it would come to this all along of course, but--

The road extending in front of them is not an easy one, but at least he’s not doing this alone, which in many ways is both a blessing and a curse. For many years he told himself he was better off on his own and if he wasn’t, at least it was simpler. At least no one was counting on him, at least there was no one to disappoint. Now though--

But his little family gives him a reason to continue, now he has something (several someones) worth fighting for and he thinks that, as motivations go, that’s a pretty potent one.

They’ll be fine. Geralt will make sure of it.

“You’re leaving at dawn, I’m told,” a voice says from behind him and Geralt half turns to face Lady Amaryllis. The Viscountess looks sad, but resigned, holding herself very still.

“We must,” he says and he trusts Jaskier has explained to her what’s going on. He does wonder just how much of the truth he shared with her, but he figured that whatever they had spoken, it was between them.

The woman hums, sitting on one of the chairs. “I’m not familiar with Cintran nobility, but I did know your young pup was a noble born,” she says, tapping her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering towards the map. “I understand why you must leave, but it doesn’t mean I don’t worry.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Dangerous enough for Julian to travel with you and now that you’ll be on the run from an army… I’m not sure my heart can handle it.” She looks much older like this, a haunted look in her face. “You’ll look after them, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Geralt promises. “I can’t guarantee they’ll be safe, but I’ll die to protect them if needed.”

She nods, smiling sadly. “It’s the best I can ask for,” she murmurs, not looking at him, her gaze lost in the horizon. “But do try not to die. Julian would be most upset.”

Geralt huffs, mildly amused and his mother-in-law offers him a small smile. “I meant what I told you before, Witcher. I wish he hadn’t fallen in love with you, but I also know they heart wants what it wants.” She stands up again, slowly, as if she was carrying a great weight over her shoulders and Geralt guesses in some way she does. “Provisions have been packed and your mare is ready. I’ve got you another couple of horses too, seeing time is the essence.” Geralt nods in silent thanks. “I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again, although I do hope you hold up your promise.”

Geralt nods. “If I can, I’ll bring them back eventually.”

Lady Amaryllis smiles at him, but they both know that’s unlikely. “Good luck, Geralt of Rivia. You’re going to need it.”

Yes, indeed.

* * *

Jaskier is standing at the stable’s entrance, gazing into the horizon distractedly. He has fashioned a type of sling out of a blanket and he carries Lovell like that. The baby is quite energetic, moving a lot and making a lot of noise, no doubt sensing there’s something different in the air. Geralt approaches them slowly, not wanting to interrupt Jaskier’s thoughts.

He looks around, finding Ciri and Yennefer a little farther away, talking to each other in hushed tones. There’s a smile dancing on the sorceress’ lips, an honest smile that Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed before. Next to her, Ciri is smiling too, a more subdued thing, but she seems relaxed, not at all at edge despite knowing the trials that await them.

Geralt steps closer to his husband, placing a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back and the Omega turns to him, smiling softly. He still has that far away look in his eye and Geralt frowns, a little worried. “Everything alright?” he asks. “You’re having second thoughts?” he tries to joke, although it falls a bit flat.

Jaskier however shakes his head vigorously. “Never,” he replies. “My place is wherever you are,” he tells him earnestly and Geralt’s heart flutters inside his chest. “I was just thinking. I-- When I first came back, I didn’t think I’d ever leave again to follow you. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” his voice is a barely audible whisper, tainted with hurt and Geralt’s heart constricts. He must admit he’s not entirely sure how Jaskier found it within himself to forgive him, but he’s thankful he did. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

Jaskier’s expression is a thing of beauty, his affection palpable in the air. Geralt looks at him, _really looks at him_ and wonders how could he ever took it for granted, how could he ever think he could live without it.

Well, that’s a mistake he won’t be making again. “I love you,” he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head to muffle his words. He’s not... _embarrassed_ of the sentiment, but he’s not entirely comfortable with speaking it out loud. However, he realizes Jaskier needs to hear it; he can not continue assuming he knows.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, breathless, his eyes filling up with tears. He presses closer to him, standing on his tiptoes to kiss Geralt on the mouth, smiling brightly. “That’s--” he shakes his head, a little laugh escaping him. “I love you too,” he whispers finally, kissing him once more.

Geralt hums, content, pulling his husband closer much to Lovell’s displeasure since they’re squeezing him. Jaskier laughs, a couple of tears escaping his eyes and Geralt smiles at him, leaning down to kiss Lovell’s head.

For a while, he forgets about the road ahead of them and the endless perils they’re about to face. For a while, Geralt allows himself to bask in his husband and son’s affection and he dares to think they’ll be fine.

As long as they have each other, he needs nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> And so we’ve come to the end of our tale. I cut the angst short, because like with the previous chapter, I figured it was better if they used their words :P Still, I left some angst because I do think they both had left many things unsaid so far. Also, it was fun to try my hand at Jaskier’s POV once more ;)  
> Anyway, what a journey this has been! I’m happy with the end result: I think it’s sweet and hopeful despite everything else that’s going on. But I’d love to hear your thoughts, of course!  
> Thanks to everyone who read/left kudos/commented, it really means the world to me :)  
> If you’re interested, now I have 3 finished Geraskier fics under my belt, along with two other WIPs, which in all fairness is why I might have taken a bit longer updating this one too ;) But give them a try if you enjoyed this one ;)  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone? I think some extra tagging might be needed, but I don’t know so any suggestions are welcome.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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